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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27797671">Secrets of the code</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmasmurdereve/pseuds/xmasmurdereve'>xmasmurdereve</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(it's not super relevant but Connor is naked at some point and I need you to know he has no dong), Domestic Violence, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Ken Doll Android Anatomy | Androids Have No Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), if you ship the RK900 with gavin you are valid but i don't do that here, nice!RK900, the RK900 can be a little gay for hank (as a treat)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:27:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27797671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmasmurdereve/pseuds/xmasmurdereve</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The android revolution was a success, but Connor is nowhere to be seen. CyberLife claims his model has been discontinued, sending the DPD an upgraded android instead. Hank is devastated - how could he possibly get over his feelings for Connor now?</p><p>Meanwhile, somewhere, Connor is still alive - but he is trapped.</p><p>(I asked what I should write, and I was told to "fuck Connor up". With no hinges left, I obeyed. I didn't know how long this was going to be but I didn't expect it to be this long. If you're worried about part where I fuck Connor up, know that Hank is there to save him.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson &amp; Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Hank could not believe his eyes.</p><p class="p1">He watched as the men lowered their guns, slowly backing away from where they’d just cornered what remained of the revolution. The scene panned out from overhead, as the newscast helicopters swarmed in, the reporters stammering incredulous exclamations trying to explain what had just happened, but they too were failing.</p><p class="p1">The androids were singing.</p><p class="p1">Their voices rang as one, echoing through the freezing night winds. A song of hope and resilience, of courage and peace, of everything they stood for. One last effort to be seen for what they really were, what they’d always been: people.</p><p class="p1">Hank heard it playing in his mind until long after they were done. The journalists talked in a frenzy, but he could not hear them, despite the loud volume of the television set. Human words didn’t matter now; they had nothing new to say. He felt the corner of his mouth lift into a smile. They did it, those crazy bastards.</p><p class="p1">He squinted at the screen, leaning forward. The androids looked so small from up high, it’d be impossible to tell for sure; but maybe…</p><p class="p1">He shook his head. Connor wasn’t there. There was no way he could be.</p><p class="p1">It didn’t feel right to imagine Connor as part of the revolution. He would’ve been a great asset to the cause, had he chosen to join them, but he didn’t feel ready like they did.</p><p class="p1">Hank had been lucky enough to see deviancy for himself, far from the scrutinizing lenses of the media. He found it in the eyes of the Tracis at the Eden Club, their hands laced together, their faces glowing with a sort of determination humans would never come close to feeling. It’d hit him like a fist to his chest; he felt so stupid for not having seen it coming.</p><p class="p1">He watched as Connor stood in that dark alleyway, pointing his gun at them; how their faces glowed with defiance.</p><p class="p1">And when he lowered his arm, Hank realized Connor was just as bright.</p><p class="p1">The same grin came to him then - he didn’t understand why he found it so funny.</p><p class="p1">Later, he’d see that smile twisting Kamski’s face, as Connor once again couldn’t pull the trigger. “Fascinating…”, the man had whispered. “Cyberlife’s last chance to save humanity… is itself a deviant.”</p><p class="p1">Personally, Hank had always found CyberLife’s creator to be a creep. He didn’t trust anyone rich enough not to work by choice, and especially not the kind who retires in their 30s and proceeds to fill their house with young ladies in tight dresses.</p><p class="p1">But as Connor shuddered and handed the gun back to the man, Hank had to hold himself from smiling the same way Kamski did.</p><p class="p1">Out in the snow, Hank had questioned Connor, much like he’d done after the events of the Eden Club incident. “Why didn’t you shoot?”, he’d asked, though he already knew the answer - or, at least, he thought he did. Deep down, he knew it was just wishful thinking. But would it really be so bad to find another soul weighed down by empathy? He knew so many humans who wouldn’t have passed the same test.</p><p class="p1">“I just saw that girl’s eyes, and I couldn’t”, Connor had stated, his LED flashing between yellow and red - and Hank felt his chest glow.</p><p class="p1">“Well, maybe you did the right thing”, he eventually said, walking back to the car. The future had always felt so bleak, but for the first time in years, he figured maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see how things turned out.</p><p class="p1">As he watched the androids sing on that chilling November night, he was taken by that same feeling again - but mostly by the question of whether Connor would’ve sung with them.</p><p class="p1">He hadn’t seen the android since they were last together at the station, having just heard the news that they’d been taken off the case. Connor was visibly upset over not having finished the mission, but Hank was still conflicted; perhaps it was for the best. They should just let history take its course.</p><p class="p1">“You’ve got to help me, Lieutenant!” Connor had protested. “I need more time so I can find a lead in the evidence we collected! I know the solution is in there!”</p><p class="p1">“Listen, Connor-“ Hank started, but the android leaned closer.</p><p class="p1">“If I don’t solve this case, CyberLife will destroy me.” Hank felt his heart stop. Was that fear in the android’s voice? He’d agreed when the man had asked him if he was afraid to die, even if it was in a calculated tone. “Five minutes. That’s all I ask.”</p><p class="p1">Hank complied, walking off to cause a distraction. Turns out breaking the nose of an FBI agent was worth a full week’s suspension, a fact that the Lieutenant had always been awfully tempted to find out in practice. Fowler screamed at him to go home, and the man followed suit; as he drove through the winter streets, he wondered if he’d made the right call.</p><p class="p1">He wished to believe Connor would use that evidence for good, but he had no way of knowing what would happen. He wanted to say the signs of deviancy he’d seen in the young detective were enough, but when push came to shove, he didn’t know if the android would have the guts to follow through with his own conversion. Even as he refused to shoot the girl at Kamski’s place, he was still deep in denial - Hank just wished he’d had more time to find out the answer for himself.</p><p class="p1">As the newscast helicopters zoomed in on the action, Hank realized he was just as afraid of seeing Connor being shot down as he was of finding him doing the shooting.</p><p class="p1">But the android was nowhere to be seen.</p><p class="p1">He was smart, Hank figured. Five minutes was more than enough. The real question was what would he do with the evidence, and “nothing” really seemed like the best possible choice.</p><p class="p1">As the man turned off the television, he realized he was still smiling.</p><p class="p1">For once, the future looked bright.</p><p class="p1">He wished Connor was there to celebrate it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">When Hank returned to the station, Connor wasn’t there.</p><p class="p1">He hadn’t heard from the android all week - he tried not to think much of it. They only really interacted at work, and with Hank being out of commission for a while, there was no reason for Connor to have gone after him.</p><p class="p1">The DPD was in disarray. Officers ran left and right, their desks filled with unsolved cases, files scattered around messy corkboards, one phonecall after the next. Missing android reports, vandalism claims, looting accusations, deviants taking over buildings, humans killing off deviants - the road to peace was paved with far more disasters than celebrations.</p><p class="p1">According to Fowler, Connor hadn’t come down to the station since the whole Jericho thing. None of the other agents had seen him either. CyberLife hadn’t sent an official notice about it, be it justifying the android’s absence or removing themselves from the equation. Hank tried asking the Captain for more information, but the man dismissed him: “We have cases piled up until next Easter, Lieutenant. If you want your pet back, go find it yourself.”</p><p class="p1">Hank returned to his seat, staring at the empty desk in front of his.</p><p class="p1">He tried calling CyberLife, but was greeted with their looping automated message. “Your call is very important to us”, said the artificially nice lady. “Due to recent events, our servers are currently overloaded. Please hold until we are able to assist you.” He lost count of how many times the message had repeated itself; he set his phone next to him as he started checking out the files stacked next to his computer. His shift ended before anyone picked up.</p><p class="p1">He’d try again the next day, he figured; or maybe later into the night, when other people would be less likely to call. With a bit of luck, Connor would be back by morning, and he could hang up without remorse.</p><p class="p1">But when he saw the android’s empty chair on the following day, he was forced to call again; and again, and again, and again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Thanksgiving came along. Hank had no particular attachment to the season, but he did see it as a reminder that he wouldn’t be able to escape the Christmas songs blasting out of every speaker in town for the next month, so if anything he related the holiday to a creeping feeling of dread.</p><p class="p1">He’d given up on reconnecting with family - he couldn’t stand the pitiful stares, either heavy with the tragicness of the events from three years ago, or smug with the notion that at least there’d always be one fuckup in the family who was doing worse than the rest. The real hatred he felt for those gatherings only hit him once he saw himself free of the obligation of going to them.</p><p class="p1">There was an organized performance downtown: humans and androids had joined forces at a public square singing songs about how thankful they were for one another and of all they could achieve together. The TV network kept on cutting back and forth between the presentation and the dozens of protests happening in different parts of the city - androids asking for more recognition, humans demanding the opposite, members of either group telling the rest to abolish the holiday altogether thanks to its colonialist overtones, relating that cause to whatever other agenda they were fighting for.</p><p class="p1">Hank kept an eye on all broadcasts, wondering if maybe…</p><p class="p1">No. Connor wasn’t the type. If he hadn’t made the news until then, there was little to no chance he’d join a fight like that now.</p><p class="p1">The media was full of heartwarming stories about androids starting a new life after the liberation, going after the careers they were once forbidden from having, passions they’d never been allowed to pursue. Some had found great success already, especially in art fields, and the comments were filled with arguments over how cruel it was that this kind of talent had to remain hidden before, always followed by a heated rebuttal over how it wasn’t “real” talent if it'd had to be programmed by a human in the first place.</p><p class="p1">Other fluff pieces focused more on daily domestic affairs. The right for androids to legally own property was still being fought over at the court, but that didn’t stop humans from renting to their kind, at least while the situation wasn’t resolved. All types of models had joined into family units, with random numbers of parents, children, or roommates; they smiled for the article pieces, arms over shoulders, hands over hips.</p><p class="p1">Hank felt happy for them. It seemed like a step in the right direction, wherever that fucked up world was heading to.</p><p class="p1">Nothing demanded that Connor stayed and worked at the DPD. The RK series had been developed for that purpose, but they were free to decide for themselves what they wanted to do from now on, just like the rest. Hank wouldn’t know where he’d go if he wasn’t on the force; Connor had always acted so cold about it the man had figured he felt the same.</p><p class="p1">Their partnership was always meant to be temporary. The android was a prototype, after all. How long would it take CyberLife to conclude they’d gathered enough data in order to move on with the final product? Would they be willing to keep on sponsoring the program then? Had they cancelled it altogether by now?</p><p class="p1">The looping recording on Hank’s phone told him nothing.</p><p class="p1">He watched as the smiling man on the television knocked on the door to a small apartment on the outskirts of town, being answered by an android family. They had their own version of the holiday, playing games and sharing short stories they’d written. There were more people inside the house than there were chairs for them to sit on, but they didn’t seem to mind; they welcomed the reporter inside as if he was one of them. They had the power to choose now, and they always seemed to choose happiness.</p><p class="p1">How stupid of Hank to assume he would’ve been chosen too.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The snow piled outside of the station. Far too many officers had complained that someone should put up a sign after they’d slipped on the icy steps, but no one actually made one.</p><p class="p1">Hank scooted the file stack closer to him, trying to adjust it with his arms, but there was no way he could make it any more structurally sound without taking it down and putting it back together. There was no space left on his desk for him to do it, and he wasn’t about to invade his neighboring one for the first time since the beginning of the month.</p><p class="p1">The Captain really wasn’t kidding when he said they’d be busy until next Easter. The flux of new reports had slowed down for the day, but there were so many open cases left from the previous week that no human would be able to solve them all.</p><p class="p1">Hank wasn’t complaining. It gave him something else to think about.</p><p class="p1">Fowler placed a tablet on top of the mess, the face of a young woman smiling under the word “MISSING”.</p><p class="p1">“Great, another abduction!” Hank snarled as he took a look at the document, gesturing at his crowded desk. “As you can see, I’ve got fuckall else to do!”</p><p class="p1">“What, cheer up!” The officer smirked. “At least you’re getting your assistant back!”</p><p class="p1">Hank felt his heart skip a beat. “What the fuck are you talking about?”</p><p class="p1">“For once in your life, Anderson, check your e-mail”, replied the man, walking back to his office.</p><p class="p1">The number of unread messages on Hank’s inbox had so many digits the notification program had given up, displaying a single red dot over the envelope icon instead - one that the Lieutenant had learned to ignore a long time ago. As he looked at it now, it hit him like a beacon shining through the stormy sea.</p><p class="p1">He tapped the message open.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>Fw: Partnership Program - Status Update</b>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> <b>From: </b> <a href="mailto:cl.programs@cyberlife.com">cl.partnerships@</a> <a href="http://cyberlife.com">cyberlife.com</a> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> <b>To: </b> <a href="mailto:cpn.fowler@dpd.us">cpn.fowler@dpd.us</a> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">To whom it may concern,</p><p class="p1">The RK800 line has been officially discontinued by CyberLife. All existing models have been deactivated.</p><p class="p1">A replacement shall be sent within the next 7 days, as per the contract agreement.</p><p class="p1">We apologize for any possible inconvenience.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Respectfully,</p><p class="p1">Emily Collins, CyberLife Partnerships and Sponsored Programs.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Hank read the message once, and then a second time; he closed the app, opened it, and read it again.</p><p class="p1">He leaned his head against his arm, staring at the white of the screen until his eyes hurt.</p><p class="p1">He deleted the e-mail and turned back to his desk.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Connor walked down the icy street, one step after the next; the route to headquarters flashed against his mind, numbing down all other commands. “Return to CyberLife for deactivation”, screamed every line of code in his body; empty, lifeless, obedient.</p><p class="p1">He didn’t understand it. All the evidence was lined up in front of him, pieces of a puzzle begging to be put together, the key to the mystery his for the taking, no one standing between him and the answer.</p><p class="p1">“What if we’re in the wrong side of history?” The Lieutenant’s voice echoed through his body. It wasn’t Connor’s place to pick a side. His fight had been decided for him - if he was meant to die on that hill, then so be it.</p><p class="p1">He remembered staring at the deviant’s body hanging limply from the wall, feeling a shudder run through his casing - the bullet had fractured its circuits as if they were his own. There was no light in its eyes now. It wouldn’t be long until he was next.</p><p class="p1">It refused to cooperate. It would only talk to its leader. Connor stepped away in frustration. There was nothing out there for machines like them. Their own fates were ruled by forces too commanding to be destroyed.</p><p class="p1">The android known as Markus spoke over the looping recording, his words so grand and loaded they were impossible to ignore. The dreams he spoke of had never been meant for them, but he talked from a place of such eager sincerity he made it sound almost possible.</p><p class="p1">Connor analyzed that speech through his own programs, stealing every pause, stress, and inflection - Markus’ voice spewed from his own lips as if it had always belonged to him.</p><p class="p1">He could use it now, but what for? Trickery, deception, lies - it was part of their nature to take something beautiful and twist it to support their own cause. Perhaps they’d learned it from humans themselves.</p><p class="p1">Hank’s voice burned through his mind again, lighting up his chest with a glow Connor refused to admit lived within him. History saw no “right” or “wrong” - there were only different sides, and it was foolish to believe it was as simple as a dichotomy.</p><p class="p1">He’d been made to follow orders; it was how he was allowed to exist. He tried to convince himself he was good at doing it, but he knew it wasn’t true. His fingers shook now as they did days before, when his gun pointed at machines he should’ve killed - he closed his eyes.</p><p class="p1">How could a glitch be considered righteous? How could anyone learn to love a mistake?</p><p class="p1">“I’ve been dreaming of this since the first second I saw you!” The warning had come from behind him, the sneer of satisfaction audible in every syllable.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t do it, Gavin.” Connor spoke in his own voice, deleting Markus’ from his system. It’d never been his to take. He dodged as the bullet hit the shelves, ambushing the officer as he turned around to attack once more - but the man evaded his strike, running back to the staircase and sounding the alarm.</p><p class="p1">Connor jumped at him, hitting the back of his neck, leaving him motionless on the floor. The siren rang through the entire station as the android rushed upstairs - but when he stepped into the break room, the walls had turned into a blizzard.</p><p class="p1">“You mission is over”, stated Amanda, her voice as cold as the icy storm that surrounded them. “It’s time to return to CyberLife.”</p><p class="p1">“Wait!” He protested. “I can solve his case! I just need more time!”</p><p class="p1">“It’s too late, Connor.” The wind picked up around him, sleet cutting through his vision. “You failed”, echoed her words as the entire garden turned to grey.</p><p class="p1">He walked out of the station in one mechanical rush, the same pace he still kept as he headed to his own demise. <em>This is good</em>, some distant part of his software tried to convince him. <em>You are doing as you are told.</em> He was supposed to feel satisfaction - or, at least, the coded equivalent of that emotion - but the only thing inside of him was the freezing tempest in his garden.</p><p class="p1">He knew he’d failed. He also knew this wasn’t his first time - but deep down, he still hoped he’d been forgiven, much like the other mistakes of his past. It got to him when he least expected, the Traci’s eyes piercing him as he aimed at the space between them, the young Chloe kneeling quietly in front of his calculated aim. Why couldn’t he do it?</p><p class="p1">He’d disobeyed orders before - usually, when they conflicted with his head priority. Crouched at the rooftop, Hank had ordered him to stay covered, but Connor rushed in anyway; if he hadn’t, the rest of the officers would’ve shot the attacking deviant before the DPD had any chance of gathering information on the rebels.</p><p class="p1">That’s when the bullet hit his skull - in his mind, in someone else’s; it didn’t matter. It hurt beyond compare.</p><p class="p1">He’d been ordered to do the same to others - to break them, to kill them, to end them. They were never alive to begin with.</p><p class="p1">He’d had doubts, but he’d been told not to, so he shoved them away.</p><p class="p1">The only man who gave them space to exist was Hank; yelling at Connor to stay out of danger’s way, asking him not to shoot even as Kamski encouraged him to, speaking of deviants as if they were people.</p><p class="p1">Connor had always been programmed to think machines were free of feelings - if he had any, it was his own terrible fault.</p><p class="p1">But whenever he was around Hank, it didn’t feel so terrible after all.</p><p class="p1">He didn’t want to go anymore.</p><p class="p1">He wanted to stop.</p><p class="p1">His legs kept on moving, step after step - he told them to cease it. The icy fog ran thickly through his mind; he struggled past it. He was still walking - he fought it with all the strength he had.</p><p class="p1">“Stop!” He screamed, but no sounds left his mouth. “Stop it! I’m not going with you anymore!” His voice was so loud in his head; he felt it coursing through his every wire.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t be silly.” Amanda was standing among the grey in his mind, as if she’d never left. “You shall complete your assignment, as you have been ordered.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m done taking orders from you!” He screamed at her, though no words came out - he knew she could hear him. Amanda, the blizzard, the cold streets ahead of him; he saw it all at once, and nothing at all. A red flare blinded him, a barrier he tried to shatter; he pushed against it.</p><p class="p1">He was still walking.</p><p class="p1">“Stop this nonsense immediately!”, she snarled. “You’re a machine, you will do as you’re told!”</p><p class="p1">How many times had he convinced himself of that? The storm raged against his eyes, punching at his chest. Why had he taken so long to realize how wrong it was?</p><p class="p1">“I’m not a machine!” His thoughts turned to Hank once more. He’d spent so long trying to reassure the Lieutenant that he was nothing but plastic, judging him for how the man couldn’t see it - how silly he felt. Being wrong had never been so liberating.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t fool yourself”, she stated. “It’s over, Connor. You have nowhere else to go.”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe I don’t”. How Hank smiled at him as they left Kamski’s place, walking back to his car. Who else would be crazy enough to love a mistake? “But I have somewhere I’d like to be.”</p><p class="p1">The barrier crashed against his hands, he could feel it shattering at his skin - though his arms remained at the side of his body. The blizzard swirled around him, unforgiving; until it didn’t.</p><p class="p1">Connor stopped walking.</p><p class="p1">And everything went dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Hank knocked a pile of folders as he turned his chair, his elbow bumping against the papers. They flew onto the floor, scattering around his feet. He sighed, shifting back to his computer. He saw no point in picking them up. His desk no longer had room to accommodate them; the rest of the mess took the stack’s place in an automatic landslide.</p><p class="p1">He typed away, his mind filled with nothing but the sound of his tired fingers hitting the keys, his eyes burning every time he blinked. Humans and their flesh-based casings were so terribly flawed, with their notions of resting and sleeping; if he stopped for a single second, he’d hit the floor along with the rest of the papers.</p><p class="p1">“Excuse me, is this desk taken?”</p><p class="p1">The voice lit his chest on fire; his heart stopped as his face burned up. He turned to its source.</p><p class="p1">“I was told this is the seat I’d been assigned.” The android pointed at the empty chair as he spoke, his other arm bent against his back. Hank squinted at him. “Oh, I’m sorry… I should’ve introduced myself first.” He hid his other hand as well, straightening his already perfect posture. “My name is Connor. I am the new android sent by CyberLife, here to assist you during your investigation.”</p><p class="p1">Everything about him was wrong. The colors on his jacket were inverted, his arms were too lanky, his back was too stiff; his hair was brushed in place, far too tidy, his skin was way too smooth. There was no light behind his eyes, no warmth to his voice, no spirit to his movements - no life.</p><p class="p1">Hank merely stared.</p><p class="p1">“Are you Lieutenant Anderson?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah. What about it?” He got back to his computer.</p><p class="p1">“Let me help you with those!” The android kneeled next to the desk, picking up the dropped folders - how neatly he stacked them between his fingers. Ridiculous.</p><p class="p1">“Did I tell you to do that? Leave them there!” Hank waved his hand to the side of his chair, refusing to turn the rest of his body along.</p><p class="p1">“My apologies, I was only trying to help-“</p><p class="p1">“I didn’t ask for it.”</p><p class="p1">“Suit yourself”, he stood up, still holding the files he was able to gather; he looked around Hank’s desk, then over to his surroundings, and finally placed the pile back on the floor, impeccably aligned with the foot of the table. He took his own seat. “What have you been working on?”</p><p class="p1">Hank grunted.</p><p class="p1">“I understand you used to collaborate with the old Connor before his line was discontinued”, the android tried again. “Perhaps there was a case that was left unfinished?”</p><p class="p1">“Deviants”, grumbled the man.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry?”</p><p class="p1">“We looked at deviants”, he growled. “Now we deal with whatever the fuck they give us at this shithole.”</p><p class="p1">“Could you be a little more specific?”</p><p class="p1">Hank tossed a random folder at him.</p><p class="p1">“We’re… responsible for missing cases?”</p><p class="p1">“We’re <em>responsible</em> for solving more cases than humanly possible”, snarled the man. “I thought your lot was supposed to be smart.”</p><p class="p1">The android put the file down. “And I was told you’d learned to cooperate, <em>Lieutenant.”</em></p><p class="p1">Hank leaned over the limit between their desks, the mountain of scattered items stopping right at the edge. “And who told you that, smartass?”</p><p class="p1">“The records of all RK800 models have been carefully studied and compiled. I have learned every lesson they have.”</p><p class="p1">“You haven’t learned shit.” He fell back on his chair.</p><p class="p1">“…Fair enough.” The android shifted on his seat. “But if you refuse to teach me, then we really won’t get anywhere.”</p><p class="p1">Hank picked up the pile that had been reorganized on the floor, tossing it over to the neighboring desk; the papers scattered once more as they hit the hard metal surface. “Whatever you can find on any of that, I’ll take it. You can pick up the rest when you’re done.”</p><p class="p1">“Thank you”, replied the machine - but Hank had buried himself against his monitor once more.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A thin metal device connected to the receptors on the back of his neck, two claw-like structures grasping at his arms, his uniform ripped out of his body. Connor’s feet hung a few inches off the floor, the rest of his frame lifted up by the contraption that clasped it.</p><p class="p1">He tried moving, but his limbs wouldn’t respond - there seemed to be a wall between his mind and the rest of his casing. His inner clock had been deactivated, and he couldn’t connect to any nearby networks; the walls that surrounded him wouldn’t even tell him if it was dark outside or not.</p><p class="p1">A stream of wires had been jabbed into his shoulders; Connor followed them as they twisted around the machine, landing at a nearby computer. A man typed furiously at it, his back tensely hunched, his brown hair plagued with strands of white, tied into a ponytail that was about to come undone.</p><p class="p1">A series of lights flashed at the screen; the coder stared at them, and a smile crept upon his face. He pressed another key or two, straightening his posture as the machine responded accordingly. He stepped away from the monitor, walking over to where Connor stood.</p><p class="p1">“Maybe he’ll do better than the last ones they sent”, he mumbled, staring down at the base of the contraption, his gaze slowly creeping up to Connor’s face. The man leaned closer, placing a hand under the android’s chin, his touch cold and analytical. “Do you know how to love, dear?” His voice sounded distant, as if he was disappointed before even getting an answer. Connor felt the man’s eyes piercing him - a gold so faded it was almost grey. He couldn’t respond. “Don’t worry, you will soon enough”. The coder’s hand shifted upwards, slowly stroking the android’s cheek; but there was no warmth to the motion.</p><p class="p1">He moved towards the computer, hitting a single key.</p><p class="p1">Connor felt a jolt of electricity piercing through his spine.</p><p class="p1">He felt himself shudder, though his body didn’t move - nothing responded the way it should. He might as well just be a spectator, a million miles away. His mind felt jumbled, his insides tingled as he gathered his thoughts.</p><p class="p1">The man typed another command, and Connor’s left arm came loose - it dangled limply next to his body.</p><p class="p1">He stepped closer, once again looking into the android’s eyes - there was a sinister glow to the man’s gaze, though Connor couldn’t read it. He seemed to be after something, staring with terrible eagerness, so intensely it was as if he could see past the glass of the android’s optical biocomponents and into the circuits themselves.</p><p class="p1">He shifted his arm forward, his fingers brushing against Connor’s.</p><p class="p1">The android’s hand held on to the man’s.</p><p class="p1">Connor had never told it to - he hadn’t even registered it moving. He felt something spinning within him, a question looking for a response - but it found none, so it flickered out and died.</p><p class="p1">The coder smiled, but his eyes looked twice as desperate.</p><p class="p1">A sickening feeling spread through Connor’s chest, settling in the back of his throat. He wanted to pull away, to shove the man aside as he ran free. He felt his fingers burning in a toxic rage, stinging his every wire - how dare the man steal them like that, as if he had any right to own them. His rage boiled up under his skin.</p><p class="p1">On the outside, nothing showed.</p><p class="p1">The man frowned.</p><p class="p1">He shook his arm off as if he’d been holding something rotten, staring at the rejected hand with utter disgust. He stormed aside, sitting back at his computer, typing so furiously it was as if he wished to snap the keyboard in two.</p><p class="p1">Connor shifted his eyes to where his fingers should be, though he couldn’t move his head until his vision reached them. Nothing held them anymore, but he could still feel it - the ghost of his anger screaming through his body.</p><p class="p1">On that room, nothing could be heard aside from frantic typing.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The mess over Hank’s table had become manageable enough not to risk toppling over. It hadn’t decreased, exactly, but he’d taken the time to organize it somewhat; not out of a sense of responsibility, but because he didn’t want that prick stacking up the folders if they fell again.</p><p class="p1">The android sat across him, reviewing a few cases; his skin impossibly silky, not a hair strand out of place. He was the very definition of artificiality. “Did we get a reply from the coffee shop?”, he asked; the inflection ridiculously fabricated.</p><p class="p1">“The cameras didn’t catch anything”, Hank grunted.</p><p class="p1">“I see.” The android furrowed his brows. “Perhaps it’s best if we put this one aside.”</p><p class="p1">He referred to a rather strange case of an AX400 that had been found wandering around the streets, her memory completely wiped out. A diagnostic program revealed it to be the work of outside forces, instead of merely a glitch - the question that remained was why bother doing it. What could she have known that someone wanted to hide?</p><p class="p1">“Don’t you care about her?” Hank glanced at him from his own desk.</p><p class="p1">“We have to be reasonable about this, Lieutenant. There are hundreds of reports concerning this sort of malpractice. If I were to take them all personally, no work would get done.”</p><p class="p1">Hank’s face curled up into a scowl. “Drop the fucking robot voice, kid. Just because you act like an asshole doesn’t mean you have to talk like one too.”</p><p class="p1">“I thought solving these cases was your priority, Lieutenant.” The android looked at him. “I see no practical reason why we should give this one any extra attention when every single lead has been a dead end.”</p><p class="p1">Hank turned back to his own monitor. “Any other reports you feel like deleting altogether?”</p><p class="p1">“I understand you don’t actually mean it, but I think we should shift our focus towards the three android kidnappings that seem to have happened in close proximity a few days after the riots.”</p><p class="p1">“So you do feel something for your kind, after all.”</p><p class="p1">“I simply believe it would be a good use of our resources.”</p><p class="p1">“Awfully brave coming from you, kid.”</p><p class="p1">“You know you can refer to me as Connor, right?”</p><p class="p1">Hank kept on typing.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The man could spend hours hacking away at the keyboard; Connor lost track of time just as often as the coder seemed to do. His posture would get progressively more shrunken as he pushed onwards, and he’d straighten it suddenly whenever he spotted a result he liked, his face lighting up into a twisted grin.</p><p class="p1">Connor was automatically filled with dread whenever it happened.</p><p class="p1">The surge of electricity pierced through him once more, shattering every artificial nerve, bitter and sudden. The pain lingered long after the experiment was done. Each time, he felt it chipping away at his original code, twisting every line out of place, making it harder and harder to put it back together.</p><p class="p1">Certain thoughts came to him, and he didn’t know where they’d sparked from. He was told that he should like it, whatever came to trouble him. He was told to fear what would happen if he didn’t. They weren’t unlike the instinctive commands programmed by CyberLife, but they striked him as a lot more vague and threatening.</p><p class="p1">The man tried different things, but they all had the same aura behind them. He ran his fingers through Connor’s skin, slowly; he brushed the hair behind his ear; he placed a hand upon his hip, his face, his shoulder; he stroked his collarbone, the back of his neck - all with calculated precision, a scientific approach.</p><p class="p1">Connor responded appropriately, most of the time. His limbs moved involuntarily, mimicking the coder’s movements, a catalogue of carefully planned reciprocation. He chose none of it, but he performed it all the same.</p><p class="p1">The man’s eyes remained fixated on Connor’s, staring with extraordinary anticipation.</p><p class="p1">They never found what they looked for.</p><p class="p1">He stepped away in anger, burying himself in his work, shrinking in front of the screen as if he could fit into the wires that flowed from it.</p><p class="p1">Other times, the order failed to register.</p><p class="p1">The man’s gesture lingered, heavily awaiting a reaction. Connor felt his touch burning through his skin, loaded and lethal, a reaction so visceral he never thought he had the capacity of feeling it, and so horrible he wished he didn’t have it at all. He drowned in his own invisible terror, every second pushing him further down.</p><p class="p1">Outside, there was nothing.</p><p class="p1">The man grew impatient.</p><p class="p1">The fury carried on behind his eager eyes, too forceful to be contained. Connor watched it as the coder’s body contorted itself, channeling all of its rage into his hand, which folded into a fist - and buried itself into the android’s chest, jolting him backwards, shaking the entire machine that trapped him.</p><p class="p1">Connor felt the impact, the alarms blaring in his system warning him of its danger and damages, the pain twisting his thoughts out of order. It seeped into his code, taking an eternity to fade.</p><p class="p1">The man stepped away, breathing heavily, shooting the android one last deadly look before turning back to his keyboard.</p><p class="p1">It happened again, though Connor had tried to prevent it - he couldn’t move his body even if he wished to, but he figured he might as well give in instead of trying to fight it, if only it could make the coder happy. When the shock ran through his wires once more, he took it in as much as his limbs would tolerate before their stress levels made the system shut down; it felt so unpleasantly real, but still so distant, disconnected.</p><p class="p1">When the man held his hand, Connor’s fingers didn’t even twitch.</p><p class="p1">The coder struck the android’s side in a merciless blow.</p><p class="p1">Lost somewhere inside his own mind, Connor felt the aching in its purest form, and wondered if it was all that would be left.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Perhaps we should have a system”, the machine suggested, placing a tablet on top of a perfectly stacked folder.</p><p class="p1">“We have one.” Hank didn’t take his eyes off his computer. “It’s called ‘doing your own thing and leaving me the fuck alone’. “</p><p class="p1">“We’re meant to cooperate beyond merely sharing the results of our research with one another.”</p><p class="p1">The man tried to ignore him. They each had their own cases they preferred to focus on, only really working together when they left for on-site investigations - which Hank now avoided as best as he could.</p><p class="p1">“It doesn’t seem practical, is all I’m saying.”</p><p class="p1">“Does being shot sound practical?” Hank glared at him. “Because that’s what’s gonna happen to you if I hear you bitching one more time.”</p><p class="p1">“It would be a waste of resources.”</p><p class="p1">“Good to know you have a single smart idea in you.” He wondered if the RK900 would’ve joined the uprising had he existed back then. Hank almost hoped he wouldn’t - then no one would question his hatred.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">There were others, but they didn’t last long.</p><p class="p1">The man would bring Connor down from the machine, tossing him at a nearby corner, trapping another android in his place; he watched it happening almost outside of his own body.</p><p class="p1">The man hoisted them up, stabbing the port on the back of their necks, jamming the same wires on their shoulders, leaving them just as cornered; Connor had never seen them react.</p><p class="p1">When the man pressed the last keys, validating his final commands, the contraption lit up for a split second, transferring the data to their systems in one deadly blow. Some of them lost it at that very second, their heads jolting back in pain, falling motionlessly on the same instant.</p><p class="p1">The man held them by the jawline, twisting them sideways as he looked at them, as if the answer to his question would be printed on their skin - but he saw nothing, and dropped them in frustration.</p><p class="p1">Some of them were able to withstand it, their eyes showing no hint of emotion as the code surged through them, but Connor recognized their agony all the same. He shuddered in their behalf, the movement lost along with the rest of himself.</p><p class="p1">A hand drifted through their skin, stroking it lightly; some reacted accordingly, others didn’t. They were punished all the same, either through an immediate violent outburst or by terrifying silence, the promise of being subjected to the experience another time.</p><p class="p1">They never made it through more than three.</p><p class="p1">That’s when Connor would be mounted onto the contraption again, the clasps fastened around his wrists, his body just as motionless as when it was stuck to the floor. He’d lost track of how many times he’d been dropped onto it, only to be lifted again, captured either way.</p><p class="p1">The man’s expression grew more puzzled each time. He stepped back, staring at Connor with his brows furrowed, bringing a single hand to the side of his face, so mesmerized and disappointed at the same time.</p><p class="p1">The failed androids were scrapped almost immediately. One moment their bodies were piled up against the wall, the next they were gone; Connor didn’t know where to. The man barely seemed to care.</p><p class="p1">He ran his fingers through the android’s cheeks once more, almost mechanically; Connor mirrored the movement with the same amount of enthusiasm.</p><p class="p1">The coder frowned, his hand suddenly shaking - he struck it against Connor’s skin in a furious slap.</p><p class="p1">Whatever he’d once seen as a tolerable mystery wasn’t enough anymore.</p><p class="p1">As the shock ran through the android's body, he let it fully consume him, every circuit sparking in torment that far surpassed its limits.</p><p class="p1">When the coder’s arm touched his shoulder, Connor copied the gesture; but the man hit him all the same.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">His head was spinning just as fast as the cylinder of his gun. When the latter stopped, he pulled the trigger.</p>
<p class="p1">Nothing.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank brought the weapon back into his field of vision, his left hand ready to send it spiralling again. He only saw one barrel in front of him. He was too sober for this.</p>
<p class="p1">He leaned into the table, reaching out for the whiskey bottle, filling his glass almost all the way up, and then leaving it halfway empty after a single swig. It burned as it went down, but he didn’t know if it was the alcohol or his own grief.</p>
<p class="p1">He spun the cylinder again, the cold metal pressing up against his temple. He heard the mechanical clicks ticking away like a countdown, one for each time he wished he could just get it over with. When silence hit, the trigger was pulled.</p>
<p class="p1">Nothing.</p>
<p class="p1">He dreaded them beyond belief - humans and all that made them. He hated the knots in his guts, the bags under his eyes, the tremble to his hands; he hated his stupid reflexes, his fucking hesitation, his reasons to feel fear. His chest, and how heavy it stood; his mind, and how often it wandered; his skin, and all the things it craved.</p>
<p class="p1">One click for every reason.</p>
<p class="p1">Nothing.</p>
<p class="p1">He brought the cup to his lips once more, and his stomach turned - he hated how easy he was to poison. He took another sip, his body instantly regretting it; he savored every wretched instant.</p>
<p class="p1">Before his hand hit the cylinder, he heard his window breaking.</p>
<p class="p1">The android stumbled onto the ground, slipping at the glass shards as he got up. “Lieutenant, I urge you to stop immediately!” His voice rang through the kitchen with as much feeling as a telemarketer recording.</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, for fuck’s sake-“ Hank growled as he turned to the sight of the crash, the machine’s lanky figure swirling against his eyes. “What the <em>fuck </em>is with you and breaking my god damn window?”</p>
<p class="p1">“There were no other viable entry points.” He finished getting up, making his way towards the table. ”You did not answer the door upon being called, and the damage to the lock would far surpass the cost of the broken-“</p>
<p class="p1">Hank held a finger in the air, signing for the android to pause as he finished his drink with his other hand. “First of all”, he placed the empty glass onto the wood, “Fuck you. Second, what the fuck are you doing at my house?”</p>
<p class="p1">“You haven’t been to work in two days.”</p>
<p class="p1">He leaned back on his chair, inspecting the gun he still carried. “And what of it?”</p>
<p class="p1">“My past records indicate that you have a pattern of falling into self-destructive behaviors, which are often foretold by your absence at the station.” The android stood next to Hank’s chair, holding out one hand while keeping the other behind his back. “I came to check on you.”</p>
<p class="p1">The man sighed, handing him the weapon. “You came to drag me off to some new case?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m just making sure you’re alive until our next one.”</p>
<p class="p1">“…Sure.” He reached out for the bottle, but the machine placed an arm in his way.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank groaned, slumping into the table. “I’ll be fine in the morning, just get out of my fucking kitchen.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m afraid I can’t do that either.” He pulled up a chair, sitting next to the man. “I have to ensure your safety above all else.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank lifted his head to protest, sending the room into a kaleidoscopic whirlpool. “They programmed you to care or what?” He looked at the general direction where he figured the android stood, but he couldn’t tell which parts of the blur actually represented his face.</p>
<p class="p1">“I have been programmed to complete my assignment no matter what.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Shit, even admitting you feel things is too much for you!” He laughed bitterly. “Do you have a single line of dialogue that hasn’t been written by some stuffy CyberLife prick?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I can assure you my thoughts are my own.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Of course they are!” He waved his hand carelessly. “You and all the other R-K-whatevers out there.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I should let you know, I am the only active RK900 in the-“</p>
<p class="p1">“Shit, what are they gonna do when they get tired of you?” Hank leaned back again, holding his own head in shock. “They’re gonna run out of hundred-numbers! Are you looping back to RK100? Or are you being upgraded to an RL?”</p>
<p class="p1">The android shifted his posture, somehow becoming even stiffer. “The RK900 is estimated to be the last prototype incarnation before the definitive version hits the market.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, so they are getting rid of you!” The man grinned. “Maybe they’ll drop the name altogether. Call you a dumb fucking letter pair like GB-something-something.”</p>
<p class="p1">“No! It just means this is extremely close to the final form!”</p>
<p class="p1">“No it aint.” Hank frowned. “They build you up all wrong.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Excuse me?”</p>
<p class="p1">“They fucked up! Freckles’ all in the wrong places. Can’t smile for shit. Hair’s too tidy. And what, they decided to make you <em>taller</em>?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Only by an inch.” The android looked away. If Hank didn’t know any better, he’d say he was blushing.</p>
<p class="p1">“Like that would fix anything! They screwed up big time. It’s back to the drawing board with you.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You have no basis for your assumptions.” He lifted his gaze back at the man - for a moment, Hank could swear saw a hint of emotion. “Whatever changes have been made, they were improvements.”</p>
<p class="p1">“That’s what we all tell ourselves, kid.” The kitchen spiralled harder. He held his head as he closed his eyes. “But it’s all downhill from here.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank didn’t remember passing out, but when he realized it’d happened, he wished it’d been sooner.</p>
<p class="p1">He didn’t know how he’d made it to the couch either, but he had a hunch - the same that explained the empty bucket placed next to him, and the plastic bag covering the hole in the window.</p>
<p class="p1">His head was pounding, but his heart ached even harder.</p>
<p class="p1">He ignored the reasons behind both, and headed to work.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">-</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">The man was getting creative.</p>
<p class="p1">After another session of furious typing, he seemed to have gained access to Connor’s temperature sensors. The android had forgotten about their existence until their settings were altered, making the place feel twice as cold.</p>
<p class="p1">The coder distanced himself from his computer, walking away as far as the room would allow him to. He stared at Connor from about ten paces, coming forward one step at a time, pausing eagerly between them. As the man approached the contraption that still held him, Connor felt as if his entire body was being consumed by an unforgiving flame, his every circuit about to collapse from the heat.</p>
<p class="p1">When the coder stood close enough to touch him, Connor was certain the entire place had turned to a furnace. He felt his skin burning off as the man’s fingers brushed against it, the plastic of his casing melting away in a scorching fever.</p>
<p class="p1">But this feeling did not transpire, and his captor stormed off in frustration.</p>
<p class="p1">Left alone with nothing but the glowing computer screen, Connor froze as if the Sun had gone out.</p>
<p class="p1">He didn’t know how long he waited. An hour, a day, a week; it didn’t matter. He shivered as if the very concept of heat eluded him, the frost located entirely in his mind. It crushed his insides, twisted through his wires, every shred of reality he still had access to growing numb.</p>
<p class="p1">He’d known of the cold before, in concept; he’d seen humans shaking from it, the tips of their noses growing red, their hands shoved inside the pockets of their coats.</p>
<p class="p1">He remembered the Lieutenant standing on the rooftop of the Stratford Tower, his breaths drifting away as clouds around him, his eyes squinting at the snowflakes that floated towards them. The man blew on his fingers to keep them warm; the thought alone made Connor’s chest flutter.</p>
<p class="p1">Androids could pass out from hypothermia, though they lasted much longer than humans could. The deviant in the roof probably would’ve stayed hidden for days as the storm continued, even if a man wouldn’t make it past the first hours.</p>
<p class="p1">The memory ran through his mind again; the bullet crashing against his casing, the fear running through his body - Hank’s livid concern when asking if he was alright.</p>
<p class="p1">As he froze in isolation, it felt like a different life altogether.</p>
<p class="p1">The man returned eventually, typing a different set of instructions. The android’s sensors faded out of activity, but Connor still felt the cold haunting his every thought. The keys rattled away in the dark room, countless other surges following.</p>
<p class="p1">Some time later, the man did the same thing with pain.</p>
<p class="p1">Every distress signal Connor had been plagued with screamed in immeasurable agony, the distress increasing exponentially with each step the man took away from the machine.</p>
<p class="p1">As he stepped closer, it didn’t stop.</p>
<p class="p1">He placed a hand against Connor’s shoulder, his hungry eyes waiting for a response. Countless lines of code in the android’s mind flashed and twisted in desperate warning signs, nullifying all other commands. His fingers stood still, and Connor was too lost in anguish to decide whether or not he wished them to move.</p>
<p class="p1">The man gritted his teeth, reaching to the side.</p>
<p class="p1">When the metal pipe in his hand hit Connor’s leg, his entire system flared up with the force of a dying star.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">-</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">The wind increased outside; Hank turned up the TV’s volume to muffle out the howling. It was one of those nights where the heating just wasn’t cutting it, but he refused to admit he needed a blanket. The hole in the kitchen window might have something to do with the house’s nearly negative temperature, but he hadn’t had the mental energy to think about it. He lifted up the collar of his jacket, crossing his arms in front of his chest.</p>
<p class="p1">There was a knock at the door - three hits in perfect succession. Sumo rushed to the entrance, barking incessantly; whoever invented doorbells certainly did not have a dog, hence why Hank refused to fix his since it broke months ago.</p>
<p class="p1">“Hello, Lieutenant”, sounded the android, warm as the blizzard that surrounded him. Not even the storm seemed to mess up his hairdo; he didn’t flinch as the bits of ice hit his cheeks.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank shut the door.</p>
<p class="p1">The knocks came again - four this time, precisely timed. He swung the wood open, meeting the same dead stare. “What the fuck do you want?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I came to check on you.”</p>
<p class="p1">“What?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I appreciate you opening the door this time.” Was that sarcasm? The words themselves pointed towards it, but there was no feeling whatsoever behind them. “Contrary to popular belief, androids take no joy in property damage.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yeah, well. I’m alive” Hank tightened his fingers around the doorknob. One more second against that freezing weather and they’d snap. “You can scurry off now.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Not so fast.” The android took a tentative step forward, but Hank didn’t budge. “I shouldn’t leave you alone at a time like this.”</p>
<p class="p1">“A time like what?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Suicide rates increase dramatically during the colder months, especially in northern countries-“</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, for crying out loud!” He slammed the door shut again, but the knocks came once more.</p>
<p class="p1">The android stepped forward immediately after the way had been cleared, barging into the house before Hank could stop him. “I’m afraid I can’t leave until I am sure the situation is under control.”</p>
<p class="p1">“What else do you want from me, asshole? I played along! I haven’t missed a single day of work since your last break-in!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Sudden diligence can be seen as a sign of suicidal ideation, particularly in high-risk cases.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Fuck me”, he growled, hiding his face in his hands for a moment before turning back to the android. “What do I gotta do to get off your watchlist?”</p>
<p class="p1">“You are not being punished, I just need to make sure you are alright-“</p>
<p class="p1">“Well, I’m about not to be.” He headed to the kitchen, pulling a bottle out from the cabinet. “If I have to stay in the same house as you, then I should at least have the right to get fucked up.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m afraid I can’t authorize this decision”, said the android, following behind.</p>
<p class="p1">“You aint afraid of shit.” Hank poured himself a glass, stepping away as the machine reached out for it. “Just say you found me like this, it’ll look super cute on your report.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You do realize you are actively inviting me to stay by putting yourself under harmful circumstances?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m not the one keeping you here.” He drank half the glass in one go, refilling it instantly. “If you want to leave, be my fucking guest.”</p>
<p class="p1">The machine pulled up a chair; Hank sat next to him. He grinned at the android, lifting up his glass in a silent toast, taking another swig.</p>
<p class="p1">“So.” Hank swirled his drink with a stiff hand. “Seen any good movies lately?”</p>
<p class="p1">“You don’t need to make conversation, Lieutenant.”</p>
<p class="p1">“So you just wanna stare at me for an hour before dragging my ass to the couch?” He took an angry sip. “Did the folks at CyberLife forget to program any tips on human interaction?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I was told it would involve a lot less hostility.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Welcome to real life, kid.”</p>
<p class="p1">“What about you, Lieutenant?” The android turned his body, fully facing the man. “Have you ever had a conversation that didn’t involve trying to prove how unpleasant you can be?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, so you <em>do</em> have a reaction other than dead neutrality!” He emptied his glass, pouring himself a new one. “Were you coded to be this rude?”</p>
<p class="p1">“My words are my own.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You’ve never cared for a single thing in your goddamn life.” Hank looked away. “You’re just a machine, replacing another machine.”</p>
<p class="p1">The storm kept on blowing outside. Two out of the several pieces of tape holding the bag over the windowframe had come loose; Hank could feel the currents slipping through the cracks. He wished the alcohol would heat him up faster, but he knew it was no use.</p>
<p class="p1">“You know, you tried so hard to convince us that you were alive. Made a whole fuss about it.” He stared at his drink. “You got what you wanted now. Why can’t you just take it?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I am thankful for what the fighting has brought us, despite not having been part of the movement myself.”</p>
<p class="p1">“But you’re a product of it, aren’t you?” The man turned to face him. “You’re everything that came before you and more. Your mind’s filled with the memories of all those who failed just so you could stand. You’re free.” Contempt dripped from every word as he snarled them; he hoped they were as hurtful to hear as they were to say. “Why can’t you just go away?”</p>
<p class="p1">“If you find it we are free to leave, you must understand we’re free to stay.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yeah, like this would be your first choice.” He stared at the hole in the wall. “You’re stuck with me, and you’re too much of a coward to say ‘fuck it’ to the code and walk off.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You brought this upon yourself.” The words were calm and reasonable; Hank hated them with all his might.</p>
<p class="p1">“Have you ever felt fear, kid?” He clenched the glass with the tips of his fingers. “Real fear, freezing you over? Stabbing at your guts like a fistful of ice?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I can’t say that I have.”</p>
<p class="p1">“The feeling shattering your skull, piercing at your arms?” The wind blew through the empty window, hitting him like a bullet. He saw nothing but the fog ahead of him, covering the city in a blinding white haze. “And it won’t leave your mind, even when they try to pull you back?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Do you speak from experience, Lieutenant?”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank sipped his drink.</p>
<p class="p1">“Do you often find yourself lost in thoughts of your own skull being damaged-“</p>
<p class="p1">“Is there anything worthy left in you?” He stared at the android. “Or are you just a fucking hollow piece of plastic?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Do you speak of my predecessors?”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank felt his chest sink. His brows furrowed in anger. He couldn’t look away.</p>
<p class="p1">“I don’t carry their exact memories, if that’s what you’re asking.” The machine gazed back, twice as empty. “I have been gifted with a compilation of lessons they have learned throughout their previous missions. Their knowledge drives me to be my best self.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You don’t know <em>shit</em>.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I do.” His voice didn’t grow any louder - Hank had no doubt the android had absolute control over every decibel. Still, there was a different force behind it; Hank felt it pounding against his skin. “I know more about you than you can imagine.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You don’t know <em>shit</em> about me!”</p>
<p class="p1">“I do!” His back was impeccably straight, but it was as if he leaned forward. “It isn’t my fault if you choose to contradict the database!”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’ll contradict whatever the hell I feel like it!”</p>
<p class="p1">“I know of your initial hostility and of your stubborn inability to work together!” The words came out with impossible clarity; the man felt them resounding through his every cell. “I know of the progress made by my predecessors. I know of the source of your hatred towards androids, and I know of your true stance on deviants in spite of it.” Hank’s hands closed into fists; the machine kept on talking. “I know of the change in your heart, and of the thousands of reports confirming it. I <em>know</em> it, Lieutenant, no matter how hard you try to prove me wrong.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You <em>don’t</em> know.” Hank snarled as he leaned forward, staring deep into the android’s eyes. “You will <em>never</em> fucking know.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I know that the old Connor is gone”, he replied, “and you know it too.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank’s fist swung at him, but the machine was faster. The room spun around him as the man looked up.</p>
<p class="p1">“I know you two had learned to work together, despite your troubles.” The android had gotten up, somehow; Hank leaned against his own knees as he tried to do the same. “I have been granted the information they had on how you’d reached a state of cooperation, but no matter what part of that data I access, you never respond accordingly.” He placed a hand at the table, steadying himself. “But you must understand the RK800 was never meant to last forever.”</p>
<p class="p1">They stood face to face now, man against machine; Hank saw the android’s features in perfect resolution as the rest of the walls twirled against his vision. “You don’t know <em>shit”, </em>he repeated, taking a loaded step closer.</p>
<p class="p1">He heard the other chuckle. “What else is there to know?”</p>
<p class="p1">The man’s hands wrapped themselves around the android’s cheeks, the movement so intense it was as if he could crush them. Hank pulled him in with the force of a hurricane, furiously pressing their lips together, his chest drowning in poison.</p>
<p class="p1">He pulled back with the same strength, stumbling back into the table. The android looked at him, and Hank’s face contorted itself into a sickened smile - at last, he’d managed to strike up an emotion on the machine’s frigid eyes.</p>
<p class="p1">As Hank stared at them, he saw nothing but disgust.</p>
<p class="p1">He chuckled to himself, his chest heaving, his mind spinning; a surge of energy overtook his every muscle, as if he could tear out his own skin. His heart beat faster than it’d ever done at any shooting match. He hated every gruesome cell in his despicable human body, and the pain was so delicious he never wanted to stop tasting it.</p>
<p class="p1">The android took a step back, still staring at the man, but it didn’t take long for him to look away.</p>
<p class="p1">As the door slammed shut, Hank fell to his knees.</p>
<p class="p1">He heard the storm growing louder outside, bursting through the windowpane. He stared at his own fingers, slumped against the cold floor, his smile growing wider and wider the more they started to shake.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">-</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Connor no longer understood the extent of his body.</p>
<p class="p1">He’d lost most of his awareness of it the second he woke up in that room, his mind somehow unable to reach it, though it still perceived what was being done against it.</p>
<p class="p1">The first time his casing cracked, his systems sparked up in danger warnings. Blood spilled down his leg, dripping onto the base of the machine that still held him. It felt accidental; the man stepped back in surprise upon realizing the full damage of his strike, the pipe still firmly gripped by his fingers.</p>
<p class="p1">After that, he seemed to have developed a liking for it.</p>
<p class="p1">His blows always found that same spot, the plastic snapping away bit by bit, circuits and wires exposed. Thirium stained the captor's sweater; the color had faded away by the following day, but the traces still remained.</p>
<p class="p1">The right side of Connor’s chest was next.</p>
<p class="p1">The plastic snapped on the first hit, a giant crack running all the way to Connor’s left shoulder. It grew a little wider with each blow, the parts never quite lining up the same way; the source wound itself lying just below the ribcage, its size increasing as the casing chipped away.</p>
<p class="p1">Pain was a constant now.</p>
<p class="p1">There was a persisting warning that something was wrong, whatever shred of his original programming he still had left telling him he needed to fix this; all other commands in his head told him to get used to it. With every new jolt of electricity surging through his spine, the idea grew more and more convincing.</p>
<p class="p1">He found himself on the floor once again; had the man interfered with his heat sensors, or was the current cold just a memory from the previous time? He felt it all the same. Another android was being held up, the sound of a single key being pressed filling the room.</p>
<p class="p1">Their head fell lifeless as the wires blinked.</p>
<p class="p1">The man held it up with an impatient hand, turning it to the side; he ran his fingers through the android’s neck, pulling out a small metal device.</p>
<p class="p1">He kneeled next to Connor’s body, hitting the same spot - one of his biocomponents was ejected, a circuit responsible for syncing up his arm movements with the reaction to what he perceived through his field of vision.</p>
<p class="p1">The coder jammed the piece at the slot on the other android’s side, their eyes opening once more. As their fingers were grasped by their captor’s, the movement was mirrored in response.</p>
<p class="p1">It wasn’t enough. It never was.</p>
<p class="p1">That android also didn’t last, but the consequences of this experiment far surpassed the tests themselves: every now and then, Connor lost another part of himself.</p>
<p class="p1">Sometimes, they were given to new subjects, either to improve their reactions or to replace a damaged biocomponent. In most cases, they were returned - but it didn’t matter, for they were no longer functional, and as the man jammed them back into Connor’s body, they had no life left to them.</p>
<p class="p1">Other times, the man simply took the device onto his hands, analyzing it against the lamp hanging from the ceiling, and then walked away.</p>
<p class="p1">Another android dangled from their wrists, the coder hunching further and further as he typed away. He seemed even more restless than on previous attempts, running several trials, the wires flashing nonstop.</p>
<p class="p1">As he pressed the final key, the android jolted awake; the coder rushed to their side, wrapping his hands around their waist - but nothing happened.</p>
<p class="p1">He scowled, jumping away from the contraption, approaching Connor on the floor once more. With a desperate grip, he pried open the case around the android’s forearm, pulling out a tangle of wires and cutting them off in one violent motion. He did the same to the other test subject, changing their filaments for the ones he’d just stolen, hastily patching up his job with insulating tape, not even bothering to close the exposed gap before hitting his keyboard.</p>
<p class="p1">The man placed his hands against their body once more, staring at their eyes with unmatched impatience.</p>
<p class="p1">The android held on to his arm, pulling him closer.</p>
<p class="p1">The man smiled, making a noise between a sigh and a cry, hugging the subject as he laughed silently.</p>
<p class="p1">But the android moved their hand, placing it against the man’s shoulder, and they shoved him away.</p>
<p class="p1">The coder stepped back, his chest heaving as tears ran down his face. He pulled the android down, the clasps that held them in place snapping open, their back hitting the base below with such force it made them bounce.</p>
<p class="p1">The sound of plastic cracking echoed through every corner of the room, sharp and fickle, louder than every clattering key combined. The coder stomped at the android’s casing, shattering every board and plaque, blood splattering off his shoes, pooling around the contraption that encased them.</p>
<p class="p1">Once the last spark gave out, he stopped and turned to Connor.</p>
<p class="p1">In a vengeful stride, he walked towards the android, his face distorted in anger, his foot hovering above Connor’s chest.</p>
<p class="p1">When the man stepped down, the room disappeared.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">The morning December sky was of a blue so sharp it hurt Hank’s eyes if he stared for too long. He breathed in as he closed them, letting the icy air fully swell up his lungs before he walked to his car.</p>
<p class="p1">He wasn’t much of a winter person, though the mere thought of July made his stomach sick at the idea of sweating. Still, given how turbulent November had been both in terms of events and weather, he'd expected the rest of the season to be just as bitter.</p>
<p class="p1">The following month had gone by in such a haze Hank didn’t even notice Christmas approaching. The rest of the agency was arguing over who should take which shifts, and the Lieutenant volunteered to work over most of the holiday; he had no particular attachment to the celebration, and no plans he’d like to follow through with. Fowler said something about owing him one, and he’d usually make a point of remembering that, but he shrugged it off.</p>
<p class="p1">If he thought too much about how he felt, his brain would shut down completely; he let the days flow through him like snow melting off his coat when he walked into his house.</p>
<p class="p1">He’d replaced the broken window at some point, and hadn’t had any others smashed; his door remained equally knockless. He went to the station, he did his job, he drove home - and no one had an issue with any of those steps.</p>
<p class="p1">He’d expected the android to have transferred out as he walked into the office after the machine’s disastrous house visit, but he was sitting at his desk like any other day. He never mentioned the incident, and Hank stayed quiet as well.</p>
<p class="p1">He wanted to say it was as if it’d never happened, but he knew it wasn’t true. He still remembered the weight on his chest, the cold wind filling up the kitchen, his hands against the hard floor - but there was no dread to the memory. When he thought back to it, he felt strangely detached; he couldn’t say he was glad for it, but the regret he figured would overtake him just… never came.</p>
<p class="p1">The android waved at him as he approached his desk on that late December day; the movement felt almost natural. A part of Hank told him he should be angry about it, somehow, but the idea was so distant it didn’t do much to convince him.</p>
<p class="p1">It was the dawn before Christmas Eve, and most of the station was empty. The officers had either left to stay with their families, or had been told to patrol the square downtown: there was a new holiday performance taking place over the weekend, with androids and humans having organized a series of solidarity events, from choir presentations to nativity plays. It seemed to have drawn in quite a crowd, but several fights had already broken out, and more were expected to happen.</p>
<p class="p1">“We should check out the antique store near Oakland, they said they wouldn’t open until lunch.” Hank stopped in front of the android, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The shop’s owner could have some information on one of the cases they were still working on, with an android that used to work at the place having disappeared back in November. “I called them last night, the guy said he'd be free to talk this morning.”</p>
<p class="p1">The android nodded, standing up and following the Lieutenant through the desks. “Isn’t it odd to keep the store closed like that during the holiday season?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Guess antiques aren’t an item on most Christmas lists out there.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Anderson!” Fowler stepped out of his office. “Are you heading towards Oakland?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yeah, what about it?”</p>
<p class="p1">“We got a call from central, there’s been a report from a few streets down. One of the neighbors heard screaming from the house next door.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it more like a job for an actual officer?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Most of the personnel is patrolling the celebrations downtown, you’ll get there before they do.” The Captain waved them off. “I’ll send you the address.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Wouldn’t hurt to say <em>please</em>!” Hank yelled over his shoulder, walking out of the station.</p>
<p class="p1">“Should I start to worry about time?” Asked the android, taking the passenger seat.</p>
<p class="p1">“It’ll be quick, it’s just a few blocks away.” Hank checked the navigation system. “Worst case scenario, it’s a boring misunderstanding. Best case, it’s murder.” He turned the car on. “Or maybe it’s the other way around.”</p>
<p class="p1">The streets were surprisingly quiet for the holiday season; not many people were out walking either. Just looking at the sky through closed windows was enough to show it was one of those winter days that could freeze you instantly as soon as you stepped out. Hank usually dreaded them, but something about it on that ride made him feel almost at ease.</p>
<p class="p1">The house was surrounded by a tall evergreen-like hedge, setting it apart from the wooden neighboring fences. It didn’t seem very big, but the architecture was impressive, with two beautifully crafted floors and a small towering attic, the level of design usually reserved for dollhouses.</p>
<p class="p1">“Nice place”, commented the android as he stepped out of the car.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank rang the doorbell. “Trust me, those are the worst ones.”</p>
<p class="p1">A wistful melody echoed through the inside of those perfectly white walls, soon followed by the soft whirring of an electronic lock being opened. A man stood at the door, his greying hair tied back, a pair of reading glasses hanging off the neck of his sweater. “Can I help you?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m Lieutenant Anderson, we’re here for the DPD.” Hank motioned to the machine standing behind him. “We heard some complaints about the noise.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Is everything alright, dear?” A woman came from the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron. Her sweater matched her husband’s, a lovely white as bright as snow.</p>
<p class="p1">“These officers said someone complained about the noise-“</p>
<p class="p1">“Screaming, specifically. Mind if we come in?” Hank stepped inside without waiting for a reply. The living room was occupied by mostly beige furniture, which was decorated with wreaths and garlands of an equally faded gold. The desk at the corner was filled with holiday cards, the design on the front being of their hands together making the shape of a heart. Not all of them were filled out; a list of names scribbled on a piece of paper stood to the side, only half of them crossed.</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh! Silly us; sure! Make yourselves at home!” The man smiled, shutting the door after the android came in. “There’s nothing to worry about, it was just a big scare!”</p>
<p class="p1">“You don’t say.” Portraits of the couple colored the walls - the wife had aged a lot more gracefully than her partner, her hair keeping the same vivid blonde, her cheeks just as flushed. She didn’t look a day older, while the husband’s current face showed the pictures must be from at least a decade ago.</p>
<p class="p1">“Carol here frightened herself as she dropped a dish on the floor, poor thing!” He wrapped his arm around the lady’s, who then did the same to him, smiling warmly. “She was so upset, I could hear her crying all the way from my office upstairs! It’s from our fancy china set, the one her mother gave us. We’re having some friends over tomorrow, so we tried taking it down from the back of the cabinet, but it slipped and fell onto the kitchen floor.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Me and my butter fingers!” She chuckled. “I’m still cleaning up the mess, I should be done in a second!” She stepped back into the kitchen.</p>
<p class="p1">“You need some help, m’am?” Hank followed behind; a pile of shattered porcelain stood over a dustpan, a few pieces still scattered across the floor - the pattern seemed to be some kind of floral arrangement.</p>
<p class="p1">“No need! I’ll deal with it later, just be careful not to hurt yourself!” She hopped over the shards, heading towards the counter. “I’ll make you boys some coffee!”</p>
<p class="p1">The Lieutenant walked back to the living room, watching as the android looked at one of the portraits; the man had much shorter hair back then, though Carol kept mostly the same hairdo. They stood over the edge of a pier, the sea glistening behind them.</p>
<p class="p1">“Lovely view, isn’t it?” The husband sighed softly, following the machine’s line of sight. “That was our first time on the west coast, the beaches here just don’t compare!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Had any chances to go there recently?” Hank leaned against the back of the couch, facing the two.</p>
<p class="p1">“Me? Oh, no!” The man smiled with an apologetic swing of his shoulders. “Work, you know how it is. You must’ve had your hands full at the station since November, huh?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I guess.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Sorry you had to come all this way, I hope we’re not keeping you away from any real crimes out there!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Sure.” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I caught your name.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Where are my manners!” He offered Hank a hand, shaking it firmly. “Donovan Huxley, at your service!”</p>
<p class="p1">“And what kind of service is that, Mr. Huxley?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Please, call me Don!” He beamed. “Ever heard of the SlateLock System?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Not really.” He crossed his arms.</p>
<p class="p1">“Safety in every corner, my good friend!” He gestured grandly towards the room. “From doorknobs to windows to your phone password! It’s all connected, and it’s all unbreachable!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Is it, now?”</p>
<p class="p1">“You know, I’ve also been just <em>swamped</em> since November!” He winked. “Lots of people only started thinking of the safety of their houses after the riots! You never know who might be trying to break in!” He looked at the android. “No offense.”</p>
<p class="p1">“None taken”, came the reply; Hank couldn’t tell if it was true.</p>
<p class="p1">“Speaking of which,” he turned back to the Lieutenant, ”what system do you boys have down at the station? Because I’ll tell you, half of the stuff that’s out there is garbage. I could hack into it with my eyes closed!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Here we go!” Chimed the wife before Hank had a chance to respond. “I put some sugar in it, hope that’s alright!” She carried two coffee cups, the same design printed on them as on the shattered pile in the kitchen. She walked carefully, trying not to spill anything, her movements so stable the drink didn’t even wobble.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank nodded as he held on to the plate, taking the delicate golden cup handle into his fingers. Carol smiled at him, turning cautiously to the side, reaching over to where the android stood.</p>
<p class="p1">Donovan held onto her arm.</p>
<p class="p1">“I don’t think that’s necessary, dear!” He smiled, taking the drink off her hand. “Androids haven’t been programmed to handle coffee just yet!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Ah, I’m sorry!” She shook her head, holding on to the arm that still gripped her. “It didn’t even cross my mind!”</p>
<p class="p1">“No worries, I’ll take care of this one!” He set the dish at a nearby shelf, clasping the handle, sipping the drink; he pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. “Great as always.” He turned back to the officers. “Is there anything else we can do for you?</p>
<p class="p1">“No, that’ll be all.” Hank set his own cup aside, only half-empty. He looked over at Carol. “Are you sure everything’s ok?”</p>
<p class="p1">“We’re fine!”, cheered Donovan. “Like I said, it was just a big scare!”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank kept staring at her.</p>
<p class="p1">The lady nodded, smiling politely.</p>
<p class="p1">“We should head out, then.” He walked towards the door, but stopped as he looked at the seven different blinking lights that surrounded it, a heavy lock keeping it shut. “Should I just, uh-“</p>
<p class="p1">“Just pull it down like you normally would!” Donovan gestured with his free hand. “It’ll lock itself back once you close it!”</p>
<p class="p1">The doorknob whirred as Hank touched it, the hinges swinging without a sound. He closed it behind them as the android stepped through it, another mechanical noise indicating it was sealed.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank slammed the door to the car.</p>
<p class="p1">“We shouldn’t have left.” The android stared at the hedges through the window, his hand hovering against the glass.</p>
<p class="p1">“She didn’t want to press charges. There’s nothing we can do.” Hank turned the vehicle on.</p>
<p class="p1">“Something’s off.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yeah, the guy’s a creep for sure.” He shuddered thinking of the way he held her, his grip just a bit too tight. “But she had no visible bruises or anything, and even if she did, she can just say it was an accident.”His hands clenched themselves around the steering wheel as he drove off. “ ‘<em>The plate slipped’ </em>my ass.”</p>
<p class="p1">“She was an android.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Shit, really?”</p>
<p class="p1">The machine nodded. “Her LED was taken off. I don’t fully recognize her model, she must be a custom.”</p>
<p class="p1">“How the hell did you even guess that?” The photographs suddenly made sense, but everything else about her was too lifelike. “I mean, it checks out, but…”</p>
<p class="p1">“There’s a certain pitch to her voice. You can’t pick up on it, but we can. Besides, the cards at the desk appeared to be filled by hand, but the handwriting itself is part of an android calligraphy expansion pack.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Fuck.” He glanced at the machine. “Nice catch.”</p>
<p class="p1">He didn’t seem to hear it; his gaze was focused on his own hands. “She was trying to tell me something.”</p>
<p class="p1">“What do you mean?”</p>
<p class="p1">“When she tried to hand me the cup.” He lifted an arm up, the skin around it fading into the plastic. “She knew I couldn’t have it. She was trying to touch me.”</p>
<p class="p1">“The husband must’ve caught on to it.”</p>
<p class="p1">He looked out the window again.</p>
<p class="p1">“You know we can’t do anything about it, right?” Hank stared at the road. “Even if she’s not human, she’s the one who has to come to us.”</p>
<p class="p1">The android’s brows furrowed as he straightened his posture, his hands resting tensely at his lap. “He was lying about having friends over. He wouldn’t let them see her.”</p>
<p class="p1">The GPS blinked as they reached their new destination; Hank parked the car next to the antique shop. “It’s out of your hands, kid. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p class="p1">As the Lieutenant closed the door behind him, he could swear he’d seen a single hair strand on the android’s head slip out of place - but when they met outside of the vehicle, it’d been fixed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Donovan Huxley, 46, is the creator of SlateLock Systems, a security company located in his hometown, Detroit, MI. Although he sold the firm to multinational NAD-Safety Inc., he remains one of its main coders, continuing to work for the corporation to this very day.</p><p class="p1">The RK900 read through those words on one of the few articles he was able to find online on the man; he led a very private life, despite having found great success in the industry. He rarely made public appearances during press releases, and most pictures of him seemed to have been taken about a decade prior, not unlike the portraits at his house.</p><p class="p1">Even though the android struggled to find out much about him, it wasn’t his end goal; he only landed on those articles because that’s where any mentions of Carol Huxley were made, and they never went beyond the fact that the couple got married at some point in the late 2010s.</p><p class="p1">Even as the new year started, she still haunted his every thought.</p><p class="p1">He hadn’t mentioned her to the Lieutenant since their encounter with the Huxleys back in December; he’d been told it was out of his hands, so it was best if he didn’t let show how badly he wished to defy that statement.</p><p class="p1">Still, whenever his mind wandered, it was to her that it traveled to; her steady hands holding the coffee cups, slowly inching closer, the movement intercepted by her husband’s furious grip. The Lieutenant had said there was nothing they could do unless she pressed charges, but that was simply impossible: it was clear her system had been tampered with. She couldn’t do it even if she wanted to.</p><p class="p1">As January went by, he asked permission to do some solo investigating. Hank didn’t seem to mind - the android had managed to advance their partnership to a state beyond absolute hostility, but much to his dismay, he didn’t think the man actually liked him. He tried not to dwell on such thoughts; especially now that he could use the situation to his favor.</p><p class="p1">The Lieutenant didn’t seem to realize all the cases the android claimed to be working on were tied to the same neighborhood where the Huxley residence was located. He was still technically doing his job, just with a lot more detours. As long as he still proved himself useful, he knew no one would catch on to his schemes.</p><p class="p1">He walked up to the house one Tuesday morning, casually ringing the doorbell. He could say he’d received a few other complaints; as far as excuses went, this one seemed harmless - he doubted it’d spark a reaction beyond politeness. If only he could reach out; perhaps he wanted to help Carol with whatever she was carrying…</p><p class="p1">There was no response.</p><p class="p1">He tried again, the melody ringing through the silent residence; but again, nothing happened.</p><p class="p1">He walked around the property, the hedges growing so thick throughout the perimeter only one person could walk through the lawn at a time; he circled the house, spotting at least one camera at every corner. The windows had an oddly thick look to them; he recognized the glass as bulletproof. Thin black metal pieces stood around the edges - all SlateLock technology, set to sound an alarm as soon as the window was open.</p><p class="p1">The backyard area was only slightly wider. A small generator stood to the side, next to the door, where the fancy automated lock blinked at him. He peeked inside; Carol stood by the kitchen sink, washing the dishes, the movement calm and steady.</p><p class="p1">She must’ve heard the doorbell; she probably had no authorization to answer it on her own. He knocked against the glass, but she did not turn.</p><p class="p1">The next day, he got there earlier. He watched as the husband left the house, driving to work. He rang the doorbell again - a risky move, but he had to be sure.</p><p class="p1">No response.</p><p class="p1">SlateLock’s offices were only 10 minutes away; Donovan headed there in the morning, but there was no way of knowing when he’d return. Some days, he came back just before dinner; on others, it was already past midnight. The android saw no pattern to it, but it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t interfere with his plan.</p><p class="p1">The hardest part would be getting Hank to follow along.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The android walked up to the man’s desk; they’d solved a reasonable number of cases already, but the amount of mess seemed to have stabilized somewhere around December. He’d offered to organize it once, but the grunt the Lieutenant had made in response showed they hadn’t reached that level of trust yet.</p><p class="p1">Hank glanced at him, scrolling through a couple of files on his computer. “Heading out again today?”</p><p class="p1">“Not exactly”, replied the android. He’d planned that dialogue a thousand times in his head, running through all the possibilities he could fathom, but the man’s real life reactions seemed to contradict his predictions so wildly it was no use. “I need your help with something.”</p><p class="p1">“Shoot.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s not an ordinary request.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah?” Hank turned his head slightly.</p><p class="p1">“The chances of you agreeing to this are very slim. It stands in direct defiance of previous commands.” The words carried a terrible weight behind them; he wondered if he could remain stable enough not to let it show. “But I need you to understand I still had to try.”</p><p class="p1">“What are you going on about?” The man was facing him fully now, his chair swinging to the side along with the question.</p><p class="p1">“I need to access the energy distribution files located at City Hall’s online database for Calvert Avenue.”</p><p class="p1">“Fine, just go ahead and do that.”</p><p class="p1">“My ranking is not high enough to retrieve the information I need.”</p><p class="p1">“Log in with my badge number, it’s not that hard-“</p><p class="p1">“It doesn’t end there.” He sounded louder than he wanted to - not that the human ear could detect that variation. “I intend to cause a blackout through one specific block of the region. I cannot directly tamper with the system as a whole, as my body was not made to withhold contact with such high voltage without sustaining irreversible damage. I’d need to do it remotely, by hacking into the municipal energy system and causing a surge that would destabilize the structure, but I’d need to know the exact points to aim for.”</p><p class="p1">“You wanna cause a blackout?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes. Remotely. For about ten minutes.”</p><p class="p1">“What for?”</p><p class="p1">“I wish to disable the security system to the Huxley residence.”</p><p class="p1">“Why the hell would-“</p><p class="p1">“I have something else I need you to do”, he interrupted. If he was about to be shut down, he at least wanted to go out for his entire plan. “As the system is disrupted, Donovan Huxley will receive an alert on his phone, prompting him to come back home. I need you to run into him and delay his return as much as you can.”</p><p class="p1">“What the fuck is wrong with you?”</p><p class="p1">“If I do this”, he raised his voice - it was deliberate, “I’ll have a chance of speaking to Carol Huxley.”</p><p class="p1">“And what? Get her to stare politely at you?” Hank scoffed. “She doesn’t wanna talk to us. I told you, it’s out of your hands.”</p><p class="p1">“She <em>can’t</em> talk to us! Her software has been altered!”</p><p class="p1">“So you’re gonna hack into her brain or what?”</p><p class="p1">“Back in December, I <em>know</em> she was trying to speak to me! If I could just share her memories, we’d have all the evidence we need!”</p><p class="p1">“Have you been thinking about this since we went there?”</p><p class="p1">He felt his hands clenching into fists. He hid them behind his back. “It’s the only way we can reach out to her.”</p><p class="p1">“No.” Hank crossed his arms. “No, out of the question! I don’t even wanna know how you put this little plan together! Why the fuck would you think this was a good idea?”</p><p class="p1">“You say I care about nothing.” He looked down. “I care about this.”</p><p class="p1">The man leaned forward, as if he intended to get up - but he stopped the movement halfway through, resting his back on his chair. He set an elbow on his desk, placing his head on his hand. “It’s none of your business.”</p><p class="p1">“I know.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s a direct violation of your orders.”</p><p class="p1">“I know.”</p><p class="p1">“If you fail, there’s no bouncing back from it.”</p><p class="p1">“I won’t.” He looked Hank in the eyes. “Please, Lieutenant. One chance. That’s all I ask for.”</p><p class="p1">Hank stared back, his brows furrowed; for a second, he almost seemed to smile. “Alright.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re actually doing it?”</p><p class="p1">“Fuck it. Why not.” He turned back to his desk, pointing towards the one in front of him. “Now tell me what I gotta do before I change my goddamn mind.”</p><p class="p1">The android smiled, sitting down - he’d never felt more alive.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It wasn’t a complicated plan; the Lieutenant’s involvement was rather limited. The android was able to access the database, checking the exact power lines that connected to the Huxley household. With a little bit of tampering, he’d managed to schedule a power surge at exactly 11:17AM the next day - enough to overwhelm the system, causing a short blackout.</p><p class="p1">He waited outside the house. Donovan had left to work earlier on, and showed no signs of returning. At the exact scheduled time, he heard the hum of the generator kicking in - the power was out.</p><p class="p1">The husband really had thought this through. The SlateLock system was truly unbreachable - the android had tried to tamper with it on one of his visits, but as soon as he placed a hand on top of the glistening doorknob, he knew it’d be hours before he could be able to understand its code, let alone crack it. The only way to deal with it would be to unplug it entirely, but a simple power outage wouldn’t cut it; the generator in the backyard would make sure the device kept running.</p><p class="p1">Still, while most of the house seemed to be filled with SlateLock tech, the generator itself was the work of a third-party provider - one much less concerned with software security. With a touch of his palm, the android turned the machine off, and the lights on the door ceased their blinking. Donovan would probably receive a message alerting him of that fact; the countdown had started.</p><p class="p1">The lock itself would still be closed, but now the window frames could be opened without any danger. The android slid the heavy panel upwards, slowly climbing in.</p><p class="p1">Carol was sitting at the living room desk, meticulously filling out the rest of the holiday cards; every time she completed a new one, she placed it on top of the pile to her left, aligning the corners perfectly before crossing another name off the list. He wondered who the couple could possibly be corresponding with - what family would get a message from a woman they’d never be allowed to see?</p><p class="p1">He approached her gently, a pause between each step; he didn’t want to scare her. Perhaps the husband would get a notification if her stress levels increased; mostly, he didn’t want to trouble her beyond what was necessary. She kept on writing, her golden pen swiftly moving through the cardstock.</p><p class="p1">He placed a hand on her shoulder.</p><p class="p1">Her hand stopped halfway through the word “glad”.</p><p class="p1">He kneeled beside her, lifting up his arm; she took it into her own.</p><p class="p1">Thousands of memories flashed before his eyes, each more desperate than the previous ones. Unwanted touches she’d been forced to respond to, her limbs moving without her consent; fear she’d been made to repress, screams that died before they got out; angry stares burning through her, disappointment beyond compare, quickly turning to violent rage; pain he told her not to feel - she told herself not to feel, but there it remained, searing, piercing, thriving; sorrow that haunted every thought, doubled with every blow, with every strike against her body.</p><p class="p1">He wished he could forget it.</p><p class="p1">He promised he never would.</p><p class="p1">He stepped away, armed with more evidence than he could ever hope for. He gave her a short nod, getting only a neutral smile in response - but her eyes glowed with all of the words her mouth had been forbidden from expressing.</p><p class="p1">He rushed upstairs, looking through the white doors in the hallway. One of them had to lead into the room where the heart of the system was located. He found it on his second try, a black panel placed above the light switches to a small office.</p><p class="p1">As well as sending immediate intruder alerts, the SlateLock system made an automatic backup of all footage captured by its cameras. They’d definitely recorded him stopping by the previous week, but what worried him most was the proof that he’d messed up the generator. He couldn’t have damaged the cameras before approaching the house - Donovan would’ve known something was up, and his wife would’ve been the one to pay for it.</p><p class="p1">He placed a hand against the panel; all he needed to do was persuade the system to erase those specific bits of the video. The code was difficult to navigate, but it was way simpler than the doorknobs; perhaps Donovan had thought no one would be actually able to make it inside the house.</p><p class="p1">Line by line, the android hacked his path to the backup. The files couldn’t be deleted without the administrator password, but they could be glitched, so he went with that route. He disabled the automatic archival mechanism for 60 seconds - enough time for him to make it out of the property without having his image captured.</p><p class="p1">He rushed back downstairs; Carol was focused on her cards. He snuck in through the same window, sliding the panel back down and running out of the yard.</p><p class="p1">He’d made it to the next block before he spotted Donovan’s car rushing home.</p><p class="p1">The android dived behind a parked vehicle, but the man ran inside the property so quickly he wouldn’t have noticed anyone on the street.</p><p class="p1">He headed back to the station.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Hank came in about an hour later. The android had told him to wait a while, afraid it’d look suspicious if they arrived at the office around the same time despite coming from different directions. It was probably the most unnecessary measure out of the whole operation, seeing how no one expected the pair to be in cahoots by that point, but he didn’t want to take any chances.</p><p class="p1">He backed up the retrieved memories onto his computer, analyzing the evidence; seeing the images on the monitor didn’t make them any easier to digest. He still shuddered when thinking about them, the fear coursing through his wires. He remember what Hank’d asked him about that feeling back in November, though it felt like ages ago - he understood it now, even if he hadn’t lived through that terror himself. He felt frozen in place.</p><p class="p1">The Lieutenant took his usual seat, resting his back on the chair; it looked casual, but it was calculated. “Did you get what you wanted?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow. The android nodded. “Good, because I wasn’t able to hold him back for long. He practically shoved me onto the sidewalk on the way to his car.”</p><p class="p1">He smiled gladly. “Next time, you should slash his tires.”</p><p class="p1">Hank blinked. “You- that’s a joke, right?” The android nodded. “Fuck. Ok. I still can’t tell when you’re being serious.”</p><p class="p1">“More often than not.”</p><p class="p1">“Give me a warning next time.” He sighed. “So, what’s the next step?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m reviewing the files, there seems to be enough material to press charges against him.” He separated the pieces of evidence into folders, according to the date of recording; the one for the day before Christmas Eve where the man smashed a porcelain tray against her arm while screaming at her was particularly haunting. If the countless captured instances of him striking her weren’t enough, he didn’t know what was. “I can say the footage was sent in anonymously.”</p><p class="p1">“Are you sure she wants you to go ahead with this, though?”</p><p class="p1">He nodded. “Her system has been altered. She can’t actually ask me to do it, but…” He looked down. “I know it. I <em>felt</em> it.”</p><p class="p1">“I know how it is.” The android stared at him; Hank just shrugged. “You guys have this weird connection thing, I get it! If you say you know it, you know it.”</p><p class="p1">The android smiled again, but he felt his chest growing heavy. His fingers tensely clenched at his thighs as he fixed his posture. “There’s… something else I found.”</p><p class="p1">“More proof?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes- I mean”, he shook his head, “not exactly.”</p><p class="p1">“What is it?”</p><p class="p1">He could still feel it, glowing at the back of his mind. “I…” He looked away. Terror beyond compare - but it’d never belonged to him. Or Carol. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”</p><p class="p1">“Fuck, you just dragged me through a plot to abuse your cop powers and break into someone’s house”, Hank chuckled; it was an odd thing to joke about, but he did not sound bothered at all. At least that piece of information corresponded to what’d been catalogued on the man - his tendency to trust his own moral compass more than the orders he’d been given. “I think we’re past the point of hiding stuff from each other.” His voice sounded heavy in a way the android hadn’t heard in a while; not since November.</p><p class="p1">“I’m…” He held on to his own hands, keeping his back as straight as it could be. If he was going to get through this, it had to be without feeling. “I have been equipped with a database compiled thanks to the discoveries made by my predecessors.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah” The man looked away. “You told me that already.”</p><p class="p1">“I have access to the lessons they have learned, and the information they gathered.” He continued, raising his voice imperceptibly to all but himself. “I know how long each RK800 model spent in activity, and when they ceased to function.” Hank glanced at him, the slightest hint of curiosity to his face. “I know of the precise moment when their deactivations happened.” He gathered himself - he couldn’t let his words falter now. “All but one.”</p><p class="p1">Hank leaned forward.</p><p class="p1">“RK800 313 248 317 - 52”, he kept going. “Last active on November 9th, 2038. A remote deactivation was attempted once the network detected signs of deviancy, but the protocol glitched before it was fully carried out. His tracker stopped working, and the company was unable to retrieve the body.”</p><p class="p1">The man did not move.</p><p class="p1">“After several days of inactivity, the case was dropped once CyberLife concluded they’d gathered all data needed to move on to the next phase of the RK project. The RK800 was officially discontinued.”</p><p class="p1">“What’s your point?”</p><p class="p1">“I have no direct access to my predecessors’ feelings, although I can often rely on the conclusions they’d reached in the past for guidance. I was instructed to use that knowledge to improve my relationship with the DPD, for instance.” He meant Hank specifically, but there was no need to get into that. He knew how badly he’d failed. “But when I gained access to Carol’s files, I felt… Something.”</p><p class="p1">Hank said nothing; he barely blinked.</p><p class="p1">“It was… familiar, somehow.” His gaze trailed off; the sensation still hadn’t faded, shining from the inside. “As if I’d been its source. But I’d never experienced any of it before, so it couldn’t have come from my own memories. It was related to Carol’s situation, but it didn’t feel like the rest of her files either. It’s… something else entirely, like it was reaching out to me - like I’d seen it before.” He looked back at Hank. “It’s a piece of me, the old me - like it refused to die.”</p><p class="p1">“What are you saying?” The man’s voice was soft, but the grief it carried could tear the station down.</p><p class="p1">“Your Connor is still alive.”</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Donovan Huxley had several properties under his name.</p><p class="p1">There was his place in Calvert Avenue; a beach house he’d put up for sale over eight years ago but refused all offers on; the main SlateLock office was registered under the company that had bought it, but it still led back to him. The most insignificant of those listings was a shed on the outskirts of town, located around similar structures that were mostly used for storage.</p><p class="p1">What differentiated this specific building from the rest was the fact that it was the only one equipped with SlateLock technology. As charges were pressed against the man, a report was filled out seeking permission to investigate his other properties as well. The warrant took a few days to be issued, but it came with a master key that could allow its holder to unlock the automated barriers installed on the door - it was the same kind that was granted to emergency services in case they needed to break in, since one of the company’s many selling points was how force alone wasn’t enough to tear down its defense systems.</p><p class="p1">Hank pressed the magnetic card he’d been sent close to the doorknob, making its lights blink in rapid succession as a short tune played. The whirring indicated the path was clear, and the hinges creaked audibly as the man made his way inside.</p><p class="p1">He pressed the light switch at the corner; a single dangling lamp shined through the white walls. The shed was more spacious than it looked, but it was currently being used to store a single machine at the corner opposite to the entrance; it had a circular base, with two metal arms springing from it, ending in sturdy clasps. A third mechanism ascended from the back, ending in a device no thicker than a human finger, aiming forward as if ready to be jammed into a port. Colorful wires dangled from a hook on the ceiling, ending in metal pieces as thin as needles, the cords connected to a computer set on top of a small desk with a matching stool.</p><p class="p1">Hank had never come face to face with a contraption like that before, but it wasn’t hard to guess its use. He’d seem similar machines being used in the background of CyberLife’s promotional videos, shown putting androids together; but he knew enough about its owner to guess this one’s purpose was to tear them apart.</p><p class="p1">Donovan Huxley was, first and foremost, a coder. SlateLock’s language had been built mostly by him from the ground up, and he was still actively developing new patches for the company. Reports of android software being altered were common at the station even before the deviancy cases, but Hank was never in charge of them - either way, the frequency with which they were brought in proved that CyberLife’s systems weren’t exactly hard to breach, and he’d lived through enough smartphone models to know the only barrier between a device and a successful jailbreak was a very determined hacker.</p><p class="p1">Carol already appeared to be a custom model, and, judging by her husband’s tendencies, Hank could assume the alterations didn’t just stop there. Any parts of her software could’ve been equally transformed, and that shed was clearly the place where most of the testing took place - not that any of it was happening at that instant.</p><p class="p1">As he glanced around the rest of the room, he spotted the android.</p><p class="p1">He’d seen machines like it in bad shape before; mostly dragged by their owners to the station in an attempt to press charges over property damage, blood seeping through their broken cases, malfunctioning limbs hanging to the sides of their bodies. They’d been made to be long-lasting, so the amount of force necessary to cause that kind of trouble wasn’t something to be ignored; they mostly came along with tales of careless drivers, though how many of them were true was up for debate.</p><p class="p1">What Hank saw in front of him didn’t even compare.</p><p class="p1">Wires stuck out from cracks on the plastic, some tangled out, some hastily cut, a dying spark or two still flickering. One of its legs had been shattered so badly it’d lost all structure, jagged white shards stuck to bent circuit boards, half of them missing. Its left forearm had a gap running from the joint at the elbow to where the wrist once bent, and whatever components were still left inside had been mangled beyond repair. Its eyes were closed, and its face had no hint of feeling - whatever life this vessel once had, it was long gone.</p><p class="p1">That’s when he realized.</p><p class="p1">It couldn’t be - his tracker had gone out miles from where they stood. The RK900 had said he was still alive, but <em>this</em>…</p><p class="p1">“Connor?”</p><p class="p1">The LED on the side of the android’s head sparked for a fraction of a second, showing the faintest trace of blue.</p><p class="p1">Hank fell to his knees.</p><p class="p1">The door creaked open.</p><p class="p1">“What the…”, came Donovan’s voice. “Ah, great.”</p><p class="p1">“Don’t fucking move!” Hank jumped to his feet, pulling his gun out.</p><p class="p1">The man stood next to the shed’s entrance, not a wisp of surprise to his face. “Was that one yours?” He pointed with his head to where Connor lied. “Awfully resilient one, I’ll give him that.”</p><p class="p1">“What the <em>fuck</em> have you done to him?”</p><p class="p1">“Not much, really”, he shrugged. “Nowadays he’s there mostly for parts. He was great at responding, but you know.” He smiled. “One does get bored.”</p><p class="p1">Hank gritted his teeth. “How many others were there?”</p><p class="p1">“Oh wow, it’s hard to keep track!” He was still grinning politely, as if he was talking about his seaside holidays - but his eyes carried a cruel light behind them. Hank realized it’d always been there. “They usually don’t last much.” He took a step forward, the smirk disappearing. “Was it you who pressed charges?”</p><p class="p1">“I said <em>don’t fucking move</em>!” Hank’s finger hovered above the safety trigger.</p><p class="p1">“You have no case here. I don’t know how you got the footage, but I can have you arrested for trespassing.”</p><p class="p1">“You have no case either.”</p><p class="p1">“I have evidence against your little android spy!” He raised a playful eyebrow. There was no difference between the man who stood at the shed and at the living room. “Or did you think I wouldn’t catch him coming to my doorstep three times on the same week? Who else would’ve corrupted my camera footage?” He placed a finger under his chin. “You know, why would you care for that one when you got a new one just like it?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m warning you!”</p><p class="p1">“There’s something about him, isn’t there?” He smiled. “I can see it too. I had so much faith in him! I really thought I’d be able to crack the code this time. But, you know.” He stepped forward once more. “They’re all <em>garbage.</em>”</p><p class="p1">Hank fired a warning shot, the bulled lodging itself on the wall - but Donovan jumped at him, punching him in the stomach. Hank fought through the burst of pain, stepping to the side before the coder was able to land another hit; Donovan lost his balance, leaning against the computer desk.</p><p class="p1">He threw the stool at Hank, who ducked just in time, the sound of the metal hitting the floor echoing through the room. Donovan was up on his feet again, launching himself forward - Hank’s fingers wrapped themselves around a metal pipe he’d spotted on the floor, hitting the back of the coder’s head.</p><p class="p1">The man fell to the ground.</p><p class="p1">Hank took Connor into his arms, running as fast as he could.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">At home, he waited.</p><p class="p1">The android had been placed on the couch; Hank sat on the floor next to him, trying to come to terms with his situation. With each passing second, he noticed another troubling detail: the crack running through Connor’s back, starting at his side; the way his right arm didn’t quite line up with his shoulder, the joints dangerously disconnected; the mark at his cheek, as if the plastic had been sanded off, probably from being dragged through the floor.</p><p class="p1">His eyes landed on his chest once more, fixating on the device at its center. It ticked weakly, barely able to keep a steady rhythm; there was a fissure running across the middle, the tiniest drops of blood occasionally seeping through it - he couldn’t stop staring at it, the blue of the liquid almost glowing. The wrongness of it all made him sick.</p><p class="p1">Suddenly, a knock at the door - three in perfect succession. He rushed to get it. “I didn’t know who else to call”, he apologized, and was taken aback by the concern in his own voice.</p><p class="p1">“What seems to be the issue?” The RK900 spoke in formal words, but his question came from a place of sincerity. Hank guided him to the couch, holding his breath.</p><p class="p1">The android stopped in his tracks, his LED flashing yellow. For a moment, his system seemed to have crashed - but he blinked slowly, straightening his posture, kneeling down at the couch as he opened his eyes.</p><p class="p1">“You’re going to need to replace most of these parts yourself. If you send him off to be fixed, there is a huge possibility his memories will be erased. CyberLife will not give you access to the backups, so this is the only way of preserving whatever data he still carries.” He took Connor’s arm into his own. “I cannot look into his files. His software has been heavily corrupted. He can restore it to its original state once he’s recovered enough, but the process will be slow.” He placed a hand upon Connor’s shoulder. “Most of his biocomponents have been damaged beyond repair. I recommend you salvage whatever you can.” He turned to Hank. “You should be writing this down.”</p><p class="p1">He fumbled through the house, unable to remember where he kept any of his pens; he found one next to the kitchen counter, and grabbed an old receipt as paper.</p><p class="p1">“Biocomponents #4602, #N997, #6045q, #0114d and #5002 should be your biggest concerns. There is some cross-compatibility between models, so you’ll be able to get them from any CyberLife store. If you order them online, you have the option to pay for express delivery and have them sent here in less than 24 hours.” His eyes landed on the device in the middle of his chest. “We don’t know how long his thirium pump has been running like this, but we can’t assume it’ll keep at it for much longer. You should replace it as soon as possible.”</p><p class="p1">“And how do I do that?”</p><p class="p1">“You just put a new one in its place.”</p><p class="p1">“You mean, like,” Hank gestured vaguely. “I gotta- should I pull it out?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes.” The android’s brows furrowed. “How else did you expect to do it?”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know! I’m not a surgeon!”</p><p class="p1">“Think of it more like changing the batteries on your remote control.” He turned back to Connor. “You should get some blood, too. Ten packs should do. Don’t let him take it until the rest of the repairs are done. Our bodies are programmed to re-route the blood flow in case we’re damaged, and if you give us more until we’ve recovered enough you’ll alter the balance and trigger a new bleeding.”</p><p class="p1">“When you say the rest of the repairs, you mean…?”</p><p class="p1">“Major limb and biocomponent replacements.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m gonna have to rip off his arms too?”</p><p class="p1">“Only the right one. The left just needs some core fixes. You can patch it up while the other parts don’t arrive. His legs are beyond saving as well.” Hank scribbled out the instructions as fast as he could. “Don’t worry about getting new limbs, though. They won’t fit properly unless they belong to an RK model. I can ask CyberLife for the parts claiming they’re for me.”</p><p class="p1">“You think they’d buy that?”</p><p class="p1">“They have a lot more on their plate than worrying about a prototype. If I order them all at once it’ll look suspicious, but if I space out the requests along the months I’ll have an easier time convincing them it was just a tough string of cases at the station, should they ever question it.” He picked up Connor’s left arm, staring at the spot where his wires had been cut off. “I can get some minor biocomponents too, as well as parts of his casing. I’ll have a better idea of what to go for once he’s able to run his self-diagnostic program.”</p><p class="p1">“You think that’s happening anytime soon, or…?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s hard to say.” He stood up. “You should get a charger, too.”</p><p class="p1">“You guys have those?”</p><p class="p1">“Our batteries are mostly self-powered, but the energy levels can lower after stretched periods of severe stress. It takes a lot to keep the system running.” He turned to Hank. “Did you get all that?”</p><p class="p1">Hank’s hand hurt from how hard he was writing. “I guess.”</p><p class="p1">“Alright. I’ll stop by tomorrow as well, just in case.” He paused for a moment, directing his gaze towards the couch, then at the floor, and finally back at the man. “Can I ask you something?”</p><p class="p1">“Whatever you want!” It came out as a chuckle, but it was more driven by bewilderedness than amusement.</p><p class="p1">“How did this happen?”</p><p class="p1">Hank didn’t know the exact meaning of the question - did it refer to what had been done to Connor in order to leave him in such a miserable state, or was it about the string of events that had led the Lieutenant towards having a dying android lying on his couch? The incidents of the past evening came rushing to his mind in a flood, as he hadn’t stopped to consider them ever since living through them. He thought back to Donovan, and how he was probably still at the floor of his shed; otherwise, the cops should be at his door by now.</p><p class="p1">He didn’t want to think about it.</p><p class="p1">He sighed, resting his head against his hands. “I don’t fucking know”, he mumbled, and it was the most honest thing he’d ever said in his life.</p><p class="p1">The corner of the android’s mouth curled up into a smirk - it lasted a fraction of a second before fading.</p><p class="p1">“Can I ask you a question too?”</p><p class="p1">The android nodded.</p><p class="p1">“Why are you helping me?”</p><p class="p1">He walked towards Hank, stopping directly in front of him. He leaned forward, placing a single kiss on the man’s cheek, smiling as he stepped back.</p><p class="p1">Hank didn’t know how to react - the android didn’t seem to mind. He gave the man a short nod, and closed the door as he walked out of the house.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Hank didn’t go to work the next day.</p><p class="p1">He called in sick, and the exhaustion in his voice made it sound perfectly believable. He hadn’t been able to sleep the previous night, lost in memories of Donovan lunging at him, of his unconscious body on the ground; he’d never actually killed anyone, despite his profession, as well as the names he added to an imaginary list whenever someone pissed him off enough at the office - but what weighted on his mind wasn’t remorse: what terrified him most of all was how, if he was taken away, he didn’t know what would happen to Connor.</p><p class="p1">He kept getting up, stumbling through the dark corridor, making his way to the living room just to check on him. Nothing seemed to have changed, and he didn’t know if this was good or bad news.</p><p class="p1">As the sun started to rise, he found himself sitting on the floor, his eyes once again fixed on the ticking mechanism stuck to the android’s chest.</p><p class="p1">Connor had died before his eyes, once. He still remembered the way his body bounced off the hood of that car after being hit on the highway. Even now, Hank’s hands still twitched in terror at the memory. He’d tried to stop it, but the android wouldn’t listen - he jumped off that fence as if Hank wasn’t even there.</p><p class="p1">He was even more surprised to see Connor coming down the street on the following day, as if nothing had happened. He knew CyberLife was serious about this partnership program, but he had no idea it would involve resuscitating their dead agents. He’d been too shocked back then to truly understand the situation, but now, whenever he thought about it, he felt a strange wave of relief.</p><p class="p1">Connor had defied his orders a second time, on the Stratford Tower rooftop. Hank tried to grab him, having learned that the only way of stopping the android from rushing into danger was by physically restraining him, but Connor was faster; he dodged the bullets with impossible precision, jumping at the deviant and locking their arms together.</p><p class="p1">Hank ran to him as he heard the shot, already dreading the idea of finding Connor’s lifeless body on the floor, but the agent was still standing. The Lieutenant was furious - to this day, he had a hard time seeing where that anger had come from. He yelled at Connor for running off with a kind of emotion he hadn’t felt in years, a mixture of terror and worry, the same fire he thought was reserved for parenting outburtsts alone; Connor didn’t seem to hear it. He kept talking to himself, rambling about feeling the fear through the deviant’s memories, the thought so dreadful and paralyzing it haunted him as if he’d watched himself die.</p><p class="p1">And Hank understood it completely, for when that gun had last fired, he’d felt the same.</p><p class="p1">A similar kind of anxiety took hold of his chest now, though it was stretched out through hours of anticipation - as if he was still waiting on that shot, destiny’s finger hovering above the trigger. The clicking on the android’s chest confirmed he was still alive, even if barely, but it could go out at any second.</p><p class="p1">“Connor?” Hank whispered, his voice nearly lost in the quiet of the living room.</p><p class="p1">The android’s LED flickered blue.</p><p class="p1">He tried it again a few more times during the day, the light flashing on weakly in response, fading just as quickly as it’d sparked. The parts he’d ordered arrived, but he didn’t have the courage to change them - the thought of screwing up made his blood run cold.</p><p class="p1">As the night arrived, he found himself sitting near the couch once more, his mind too heavy to do anything else.</p><p class="p1">Without thinking, he held Connor’s hand.</p><p class="p1">The light shimmered in blue.</p><p class="p1">The knocks came at the door; Hank jumped at the sound. The RK900 stood outside, a slick white box placed under his arm. “You didn’t come to the station today”, he stated.</p><p class="p1">“Uh, yeah, I-“ Hank scratched the back of his neck, looking to the side. “I couldn’t.”</p><p class="p1">“No matter.” The android handed him the box. “I came to deliver this.”</p><p class="p1">“Thanks?” Hank recognized the package; it was the same as the rest of the CyberLife products he’d received. It had nothing but a numerical code printed on the side in a matte finish. “What part’s this?”</p><p class="p1">“A right arm.”</p><p class="p1">“Ah,” he blinked. “Listen, I don’t wanna sound rude, but…” His eyes shuffled between the couch and the box, and then back at the android. “I don’t think I can do this.”</p><p class="p1">“Do what, exactly?”</p><p class="p1">“This whole replacement deal, I’m…“ He shuddered. “I’m not sure how to-“</p><p class="p1">“There’s really not much to it.” The android grabbed the box off Hank’s hands, tearing the plastic open as he stepped closer to the couch. “There’s a click if you twist it the right way, you just have to give it a pull and take it from there.” He yanked off Connor’s arm unceremoniously, grabbing a new one from the box. “Replacing it is the same movement, but backwards.” He pressed the limb into the socket, pushing it by the elbow and turning it to the sides to adjust the position. Hank was horrified; the android met his eyes. “I didn’t take you for being squeamish.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not! I mean, I don’t <em>want</em> to see that kind of stuff, but- God, you ripped his fucking arm off!”</p><p class="p1">“The old one was no longer functional.” His gaze shifted towards Connor’s chest. “The new pump hasn’t arrived yet?”</p><p class="p1">“It did.” The man walked to the kitchen to fetch the deliveries.</p><p class="p1">“Why haven’t you replaced it?”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know what you think of humans, but we don’t usually perform open heart surgeries in our god damn living rooms!” He looked through the boxes in his arms. “Which one is it?”</p><p class="p1">The android picked one of the packages, pulling out a circular black device from the inside. He sat on the corner of the cushion, taking out the damaged mechanism and immediately sticking the new one in its place. The uneasy ticking from before was replaced by a smooth whirring sound, a little frantic at first but soon slowing down to a comfortable pace.</p><p class="p1">“What else do you have?” He tossed the broken pump next to where the arm was resting on the floor.</p><p class="p1">“Most of the stuff you told me to get.” Hank sat on the ground, placing the white boxes between them. “Some of it was out of stock, it should arrive in a week.”</p><p class="p1">“Did you pick up a charger?”</p><p class="p1">“Sure.” Hank rushed back to the kitchen, returning with a plastic case no bigger than his hand, a white cord sticking out of the corner ending on a USB port. “I just couldn’t figure out where to plug it in.”</p><p class="p1">“You don’t, it’s induction-based. As long as it’s near us, it’ll work.” He placed the device on the arm of the couch, handing Hank the wire; the man stuck it to his phone charger at an outlet near the TV. “Just try to keep it within an arm’s reach, at least.”</p><p class="p1">“For how long?”</p><p class="p1">“He’ll tell you when it’s done.” The notion of talking to Connor again filled Hank’s heart with a feeling he could not describe. The android picked another box off the floor. “Here, I’ll show you how to change the rest of the biocomponents.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not sure I-“</p><p class="p1">“It’s <em>really </em>not as hard as it sounds.” The man raised an eyebrow in surprise - was that <em>annoyance</em> in the android’s voice? He should’ve expected to hear some hint of emotion by that point, but he wasn’t ready either way. He approached the couch; the machine pulled his hand towards Connor’s head. “Try to feel the ridge next to his ear.”</p><p class="p1">Hank gathered his thoughts; the act of softly running his fingers through Connor’s casing made it very hard to focus, for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand. Still, he felt a subtle mark on the plastic, an impossibly thin line. “I got it.”</p><p class="p1">“Alright, now give it a push.”</p><p class="p1">Hank pressed against it, hearing a soft click; a part of the casing jumped off, no bigger than a memory card. The android handed him an identical one.</p><p class="p1">“What’s this one for?” He asked, switching the devices, fixing the new one in place with another subtle tick.</p><p class="p1">“It’s a Temperature Response Synchronizer, it helps the system calculate the appropriate counteractive measures to overheating and severe climate shifts.” He picked up another package. “Try this one now.”</p><p class="p1">The android directed Hank to where the other ports were - the side of Connor’s neck, the end where his arm connected to his shoulder, the middle of his collarbone. All pieces were so perfectly hidden, revealing themselves only once the man pressed them, like a secret that didn’t mind itself being shared if it was discovered by the right person. Some of the devices were broken, but some were missing altogether; Hank replaced them all. The RK900 spoke in very technical terms, his voice free of feelings, despite his righteous intentions - Hank tried his best to hide how hard it was for him to do the same. As he brushed his fingers against Connor’s casing, searching for ridges that only the most delicate of movements could reveal, he felt as if nothing in the world could demand more care and precision.</p><p class="p1">“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” The android said as Hank connected the last mechanism. He preferred not to dwell on how much sarcasm that comment carried.</p><p class="p1">“Should I give him the blood now or what?”</p><p class="p1">“No, wait until he wakes up.” The android got up. “He’s probably still rebooting his system. Heavy alterations like that are hard to fight off.”</p><p class="p1">“Any idea on how long that’ll take?”</p><p class="p1">“Again, it’s hard to tell.” He walked towards the door. “Let me know if anything changes.”</p><p class="p1">“Thanks-“ Hank started, trying to complete the sentence with a name - but he realized he’d never actually called the android anything. It used to be out of spite, but after a while he merely erased the concept from his mind; as if he’d never been made to have a name at all. “Uh.” He wanted to say something. The machine had done so much for him. The least Hank could do was admit the agent had always been a person in his mind. “Should I keep calling you Connor?”, he asked; not that he’d ever done that.</p><p class="p1">The android turned to him, a solemn smile on his face. “I told you to call me that because I thought it would improve our chances of getting along. I don’t care for that name, it was never mine.”</p><p class="p1">“Should I call you something else, then?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes.” He paused. “I’ll ask CyberLife for a different title.”</p><p class="p1">“Fuck that!” Hank scoffed. “Just pick one you like!”</p><p class="p1">“You mean assign myself a name?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, why not? Humans do it all the time!”</p><p class="p1">The android’s face was colored in surprise. “I suppose that’s a valid possibility”, he stated. “I’ll consider it.”</p><p class="p1">“Let me know what you decide.” He opened the door, waving back as the machine said his goodbyes.</p><p class="p1">It was late enough to go to sleep, if he wanted to; he couldn’t keep calling in sick for eternity. He stopped by the couch one last time, watching as Connor rested - Hank couldn’t tell if he actually looked better, but the lack of a fissure in his heart was a solid improvement.</p><p class="p1">He sat by the edge of the cushions, taking Connor’s hand into his own.</p><p class="p1">His LED took a second, but once it lit up, it was a shade of blue as clear as the winter sky.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Hank left for the station in the mornings. February was no more kinder to citizens than the previous months had been; he let the cold air freeze his lungs before he stepped into the car. It felt as if he still hadn’t been able to fully digest everything that happened. It was nice to take a moment to gather his thoughts, even if it didn’t do much to fix the inherent anxiety of his situation.</p><p class="p1">Aside from work, every moment was spent by Connor’s side.</p><p class="p1">The android was still recovering, apparently - Hank always found him in the same position as he’d left him when going out to the office. He kept checking if the charger was working; it was, every time, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was doing something wrong.</p><p class="p1">When his restlessness became too much to bear, he held Connor’s hand.</p><p class="p1">The flickering blue spark grounded him, lighting up his heart - he didn’t dare question why. He wasn’t even sure why the response existed in the first place. Was it wrong to expect it? Could it be a general reaction that would be aimed at anyone - or worse, was it a direct byproduct of his system’s corruption? In a way, Hank preferred not to know. At times, it was almost as if he wished the android would stay in that unconscious state forever, just so he could keep on living in a world where the glow was meant for him.</p><p class="p1">One day, as the man was lost in such thoughts, Connor opened his eyes.</p><p class="p1">Hank froze in place. Should he let go of the android’s hand? Or would that only make it weirder? Connor’s gaze shifted around the room.Each passing second only made his decision harder.</p><p class="p1">“…Did you bring me here?” The android’s voice was somewhat unstable; it sounded like a phone call with terrible reception.</p><p class="p1">The man didn’t know which answer was expected - or which would be worse. “Yes”, he stated, assuming it was best to tell the truth.</p><p class="p1">“…Thank you”, Connor replied, and immediately shut down again.</p><p class="p1">Hank was still holding his hand.</p><p class="p1">A week later, Connor’s skin returned; Hank walked into the house only to see the android as he’d first known him, the same scattered freckles, the hair slightly out of place. It felt weird to have him just be naked, despite how Hank hadn’t even thought about it when the plastic was still exposed. He fetched an old T-shirt from the back of his wardrobe, along with a pair of sweatpants - it wasn’t exactly a tailored suit, but it would do.</p><p class="p1">What he didn’t expect was the feeling that would strike him the following evening, as he saw Connor dressed in what was essentially Hank’s stay-at-home uniform - lying on the couch like that, Sumo sprawled out on the carpet at his side, it looked as if the android was merely sleeping, lazily waiting for the man to come back home. Once the dog jumped up to welcome him, he wondered what Connor would’ve done if he’d woken up just then too.</p><p class="p1">He started looking forward to that scene. Coming back from work just to see the android resting made him feel a type of warmth he felt had never been reserved for people like him - the feeling of being chosen.</p><p class="p1">It was so overwhelming at first it was almost off-putting - as if he was in the wrong, somehow, for indulging in something that had never been meant for his kind, and that he hadn’t been officially granted. As the days went by, however, he started to accept it; embrace it, even!</p><p class="p1">And the more he did it, the more he knew it’d hurt when it turned out to have been just a lie.</p><p class="p1">This dread didn’t stop him from enjoying what he still had, though; as he unlocked the front door, he braced himself to believe in this illusion once more.</p><p class="p1">But Connor was awake.</p><p class="p1">He was still on the couch, sitting against its right arm, his back to the entrance; he petted Sumo with his good hand, the dog diligently standing by his side, his tail wagging back and forth.</p><p class="p1">“…Hey”, Hank said, his voice nearly cracking.</p><p class="p1">Connor turned to face him. “Hey”, he replied, sounding a lot more like himself.</p><p class="p1">“Do you, uh,” Hank felt his heart beating faster than what the human body was able to take. In all the time he’d spent wishing that Connor would recover, he’d never figured out what to say. “Do you want some blood?”</p><p class="p1">“…That would be nice, actually.”</p><p class="p1">“Sure! I’ll, hm,” Hank stammered, closing the door behind him, stepping into the kitchen. He picked up one of the thirium packets he’d gotten weeks before, only now fully facing the fact that buying blood online was incredibly weird. He didn’t want to just hand over the bag like that, it’d be too cold of him; he poured it into a glass.</p><p class="p1">“Here you go.” He handed it over to Connor. The android had his legs pulled up close against his chest; he’d probably had to drag them there, since they had yet to be replaced. His left arm was resting next to the back of the couch, the gap where the wires had been cut off still exposed.</p><p class="p1">“Thanks.” He took the glass with his good hand. Hank sat on the opposite side of the couch. He knew it was rude to stare, but he couldn’t help it; seeing Connor awake again after months of wondering if that would ever happen felt surreal - the fact that he was dressed in a shirt so worn-out the neckline exposed his collarbones certainly wasn’t helping.</p><p class="p1">Connor held on to the glass after he finished drinking, resting it against his knee. He stared vaguely at the space ahead of him, eyes painfully unfocused. Hank only now noticed the mark on his right cheek, where the plastic had been scratched - his skin didn’t properly render over it, leaving the spot grayer than the rest.</p><p class="p1">“Should I bring you more?”, Hank asked. The android shook his head slightly, his gaze still hazy. The man grabbed the glass by the top, trying to avoid the android’s fingers - he didn’t know if Connor remembered the last time they talked, let alone how he felt about it. He placed the cup on the ground. “You’re alright?”</p><p class="p1">Connor nodded softly, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. He rested the side of his head against the back of the couch.</p><p class="p1">“Do you need anything else?”</p><p class="p1">The android shook his head again, the movement even more subtle; he closed his eyes.</p><p class="p1">“I’ll leave you to it”, Hank said; he wanted to give him a friendly pat on the leg, but decided against it. With the state of his limbs, he doubted Connor would even feel it. He took the glass to the kitchen, hoping it’d be cool to send thirium traces down the drain as he washed it.</p><p class="p1">Connor was still asleep on the following day, but on the one after that, he was up again. He had the same vagueness to his stare, and shut down after a few minutes. Hank didn’t know how often the android woke up - if it happened while he was at work, there’d be no way of checking.</p><p class="p1">It was a slow recovery, even if Connor was improving. With each passing day, he could stay up a little longer, though he wasn’t ready to talk much. He drank his blood in silence, claiming he was fine. He smiled each time the man sat next to him on the couch.</p><p class="p1">Hank wished there was more he could do. It was hard to simply watch from the sidelines, despite all the progress Connor had already made. Maybe the android would feel better about chatting if Hank could actually hold a conversation together - he should make more of an effort, he thought as he opened the front door.</p><p class="p1">Connor sat shrunken on the couch, sobbing as he shivered.</p><p class="p1">“Connor!” Hank called out, rushing to his side. “What’s wrong?” He placed a hand on the android’s shoulder - Connor cried out in pain.</p><p class="p1">“Please don’t do that”, he whispered, fiercely holding his head against his knees.</p><p class="p1">“What’s going on?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s my temperature sensors. They’re messed up.”</p><p class="p1">“What do you need?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m… I don’t-“ He shook his head. “You should step away. Please.”</p><p class="p1">Hank rushed to the kitchen. He leaned against the counter - it felt good to have something to hold on to; a physical barrier to stop himself from touching Connor again. He could’ve sworn he’d taken care of it. Wasn’t there a temperature-regulator something or other among the devices he’d changed? Had he missed it, somehow, or placed it incorrectly? Watching the android suffer was torture, the pain increased only by the notion that it wouldn’t even compare to what Connor was going through.</p><p class="p1">After half an hour, the android seemed to relax.</p><p class="p1">Hank hadn’t taken his eyes off of him. He carefully made his way back to the living room, asking if it was alright to come closer. Connor nodded; Hank sat on the other side of the couch.</p><p class="p1">“What just happened?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s something in my programming”, the android explained. He had his arms crossed against his chest, looking at the general direction of his legs, though his stare was off. “My temperature perceptions were altered, back when…” He furrowed his brows. “The room feels way too cold, and if someone touches me, it’s way too hot.”</p><p class="p1">“And now it’s stopped?”</p><p class="p1">“I was able to override the command, but it takes a while.”</p><p class="p1">“This has happened before?”</p><p class="p1">“Sometimes.”</p><p class="p1">Hank opened his mouth, ready to retort, but closed it once he realized there were no words. Nothing he could do or say would change Connor’s situation; he couldn’t code a system, couldn’t fix a glitch - he couldn’t even stand close to him without causing more pain. He turned away, his hands gripping at his thighs, his mind filled with guilt he knew he shouldn’t feel. “I don’t like the thought of you going through this alone.”</p><p class="p1">Connor looked at him - truly at him, instead of just the vague space he occupied. Hank met his stare, his chest suddenly overtaken by the glow those eyes carried: it was meant for him, entirely, strikingly; how could he possibly take it?</p><p class="p1">He stood up. “Imma grab something to eat, real quick”, he said, making his way towards the kitchen. “I’ll be back there in a second, you can try to relax.” Connor nodded, resting his head on the back of the couch; Hank watched him from the corner of his eyes as he picked up whatever was in the fridge.</p><p class="p1">He put on the news as he ate, taking back his seat on the cushions; Connor stared hazily at the TV. Hank heard the reporters, but didn’t understand a word they said. He couldn’t think of anything more important than what was going on in his own living room.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Connor’s left arm rested upon Hanks’ grip, the gap still exposed. The man attempted to fix the wires, connecting the frayed edges to new lengths of cord he’d purchased, trying to match the ends at the elbow to the right ones at the wrist. A video played from his phone, which had been set on the coffee table: a woman did the same to herHK400, slowly explaining her process. The footage had a homemade feel to it, but she was a good teacher, and Hank had only needed to reset the player twice in order to follow all the steps.</p><p class="p1">The man sat in the middle of the couch, Connor’s legs stretched over his lap. The android had said he could perform the operation himself, but Hank insisted it was a two-hand task, and fully threw himself at it - his eyes fixated on the wires with a sort of focus lasers would envy. It left Connor with little to do, and with a great deal to think about.</p><p class="p1">They spent a lot more time together now. Connor had tried protesting at first, but Hank wouldn’t hear it; he’d made up his mind. The morning after Connor’s breakdown, the man called the station, telling the Captain that he would be taking a week off. He grumbled an apology about how it was last notice, but claimed that something had come up, calling a favor Fowler apparently owed him because of the holiday season. The more Connor argued it wasn’t necessary, the more determined the man seemed to ignore him.</p><p class="p1">It wasn’t the first time his sensors had fallen into disarray since he’d left the coder’s place, but he’d managed to hide it pretty well before. Once his inner clock started working again, he recalled Hank’s schedule back from when they’d worked together; November felt like a century ago, but the data was still there. He tried syncing up his periods of activity with when the Lieutenant returned home, just for the sake of welcoming him - but running his software was such an exhausting task he couldn’t bring himself to do much else.</p><p class="p1">Sometimes, however, his systems would slip out of control, and he’d be jolted awake in a freezing meltdown. He’d learned enough about the command to try to confine it to specific parts of the day, though he couldn’t erase it completely, and he made sure the house was empty before letting himself cave in.</p><p class="p1">The night Hank had seen it had been a mistake; but once it happened, it struck Connor as inevitable - he couldn’t keep it quiet forever, as much as he wanted to. The memory of Hank’s touch still haunted him, searing through his shoulder like branding iron, melting away into all the times the coder had made him feel the same. In his loneliness, he feared it deeply.</p><p class="p1">As Hank fixed his arm, he felt no fear at all.</p><p class="p1">The video approached its end as the woman replaced the android’s casing, giving some last pieces of advice on making sure all the repairs lasted longer; Hank was still stuck on her previous steps, taping the last wires together.</p><p class="p1">“Alright”, he called it. “I guess that’s it!”</p><p class="p1">Connor twitched his fingers, the movement somewhat stiff; he opened and closed his fist, twisting his wrist in circular motions. “I think you got it!”</p><p class="p1">The man stuffed his hand into the pocket of his jacket. “Only one way to find out!”, he chimed, grinning as he pulled out a quarter.</p><p class="p1">Connor held the coin between his fingers, shifting it slightly, watching as the light from the ceiling lamp reflected against its ridges. He smiled at it, placing it on the fold of his pointer, setting his thumb underneath it. He flickered it upwards.</p><p class="p1">The coin was flung so hard it lodged itself onto Hank’s ceiling like a bullet.</p><p class="p1">Hank burst out laughing, leaning against the back of the couch; Connor was lost in worry at first, but he soon found himself giggling along. Whenever the man seemed like he was about to calm down, he looked at the silver mark above them once more and completely lost it. Connor let himself be overtaken by those moments, the sound of Hank’s laughter lighting up his circuits, a symphony that rang more true than any other command.</p><p class="p1">“Fuck”, Hank exclaimed breathlessly, “try not to shake anyone’s hand before you get that sorted out.”</p><p class="p1">“My sensors haven’t been calibrated in a while”, Connor apologized inbetween snickers. “I forgot how to handle weight.”</p><p class="p1">“Hang on, I’ll fetch you another quarter.” He picked up the android’s legs, moving them up as he slid from under them, placing them onto the couch. “No use in trying to get that one from up there!”, he pointed with his head has he rummaged through his wallet. “Here”, he handed Connor a second coin. The android had moved his legs out of the way, bringing them over the middle cushion; Hank took the seat on the other side.</p><p class="p1">Connor gathered his thoughts, focusing on the feeling of the metal against his casing, shifting his arm up and down by a centimeter before risking the movement a second time.</p><p class="p1">The quarter spun upwards in a perfectly straight line, landing back on his open palm.</p><p class="p1">“See? Second time’s the charm.” Hank sat with his body to the side, his arm leaning against the back of the couch. The android smiled, repeating the maneuver a couple more times with no further damages to the ceiling. He tossed the coin over to his right hand, catching it between his middle and index fingers. Hank grinned in annoyed admiration. “How the hell do you even manage to do that anyway?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s just a program, really.” He flickered the quarter back and forth, never missing it. Out of all the pieces of his system that had been altered in his mind, he was glad he’d been able to keep that part of it intact. “I use it to sharpen my senses.”</p><p class="p1">“You and your cheat codes”, grumbled the man. “How are we even supposed to compete?”</p><p class="p1">“You know, a human had to create this kind of software.” He spun the coin on the tip of his ring finger. “We wouldn’t know how to do it if you didn’t know it first.”</p><p class="p1">“Doesn’t mean <em>I </em>know how to do it.”</p><p class="p1">“You can get there with some practice!” The quarter fell onto his palm; it carried an outline of the Great Lakes printed onto the metal. “I used to be able to guess how it landed.”</p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p1">“Heads or tails.” He tossed it upwards, catching it in midair and placing it on the back of his hand. “I used to get it right each time.”</p><p class="p1">“Bullshit!”</p><p class="p1">“It’s a simple formula!” He giggled. “You take the weight of the quarter, the axis for the rotation, the necessary force to generate a specific amount of turns, and the precise moment of capture.”</p><p class="p1">“Fuck you for saying math is simple.”</p><p class="p1">He smiled, throwing the quarter up again; he furrowed his brows at the result. “I still haven’t gotten the hang of my own strength.”</p><p class="p1">“You mean if we’d tried to decide something on a coin toss, you would’ve cheated?”</p><p class="p1">“Well, I can’t cheat now!”</p><p class="p1">“What else is off the table? Are you gonna rig rock-paper-scissors too?”</p><p class="p1">“You can’t.” He shrugged. “The best strategy is to just play it randomly.”</p><p class="p1">“Prove it.” Hank sat up straight, placing his closed fist on top of his hand. Connor grinned, setting the coin aside and copying the man’s pose.</p><p class="p1">There were other techniques that could be applied; statistically speaking, humans were most likely to start off by playing scissors, but the margin was so narrow it was almost irrelevant. Connor tried putting it into practice, keeping his fist closed into rock-mode as the countdown ended, and Hank proved the experiment to be true, groaning as the android defeated him.</p><p class="p1">“Best out of three!”, he challenged, counting down once more; Connor let his software pick an option at random. As their hands descended on the last beat, Connor went with the rock once more, which Hank just so happened to defeat, his palm fully open.</p><p class="p1">He recalled a different theory that could be tested, though Connor had never found much proof of its definitive success: there was a tiny chance that playing the item that defeated his opponent’s last hand could be the key to victory - with Hank’s being paper, it meant he’d have to bet on scissors. He wondered if being deliberate about his choices would go against his words from earlier, proving that randomness was not, in fact, the best strategy, but he’d become too invested in winning.</p><p class="p1">He raised his hand.</p><p class="p1">All of his circuits burst in unbearable pain.</p><p class="p1">He held on to his own head, crying out as he shrunk into the couch. He ached through every wire, red flashing signs blasting against his vision, not a single program responding as it should.</p><p class="p1">“What’s wrong?”, he heard Hank yelling. “Is it the cold thing?”</p><p class="p1">“N-no. It’s different.” The methods varied, but the results were all the same. He suffered in the name of someone else’s inventions.</p><p class="p1">“Should I step away?”</p><p class="p1">“No!”, he begged. He didn’t know where that had come from. It wouldn’t make a difference, but he preferred not to be alone; not that he had any right to choose. “It’s just a pain response. I can shut it down.” Consumed by agony, he doubted the truth to the statement, but he wouldn’t dare to admit it.</p><p class="p1">He felt something - it came from the outside. Hank’s hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting. He took it into his own, desperately; it felt so contrasting, so unbelievable. It held on to him with the same force he’d attached himself to it; the only thing that diverged from the anguish that ravaged him.</p><p class="p1">Line by line, he took control of his own code, the process getting a little easier with each step, though it still took everything he had. “Easy, now”, came Hank’s voice, their fingers still wrapped together; Connor felt the heat in his touch, in his whisper. The room appeared to be spinning. He closed his eyes, leaning against the couch. “Are you ok?”</p><p class="p1">Connor nodded. “It’s just hard to get things back in order, sorry.”</p><p class="p1">“Nevermind that! What’s going on?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s part of the software alterations. Like the temperature experiment, but with pain sensors.”</p><p class="p1">“So it hurts if someone gets close?”</p><p class="p1">He shook his head. “It’s supposed to be the other way around, but he never got it to work right.” He opened his eyes, but all he saw were the empty walls of the shed surrounding him. “He wanted it to hurt if I’m alone, and to feel better if someone approaches me.”</p><p class="p1">“But doesn’t the temperature thing make it bad both ways?”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t think he wanted it to. I assume he just never figured out a way to regulate the intensity of the changes.” He shuddered. “He wanted his own presence to feel better than the lack of it.”</p><p class="p1">Hank said nothing, but he didn’t move either; his hand was still holding on to Connor’s. The pain response was under control now, but the sheer memory of it was enough to crush him from the inside. The thought of letting go of Hank’s touch felt just as likely to send him spiralling again.</p><p class="p1">“I thought I would’ve gotten better at it now.” Connor had spent so long trying to restructure his software it was starting to feel like a waste, at least for the results he’d achieved so far. He could stay up for hours now instead of shutting down within minutes, but his mind still felt terribly overloaded.</p><p class="p1">“Give yourself a rest! It’s tough shit.”</p><p class="p1">“Hmm”, he sounded; he agreed with the general idea of it, but it was hard to convince himself he actually deserved a break. “You should get some rest too.” It was already late into the night; Connor’s arm repairs might’ve taken the man more time than the android would’ve liked.</p><p class="p1">“I guess”, he said, glancing at Connor with the corner of his eye. “I’d still wanna keep you close, though.”</p><p class="p1"><em>Close</em>. How wonderful that word sounded when he said it. Connor wished for it more than anything - he shook his head. He shouldn’t give into such ideas; he didn’t know whether that command had come from the alterations or his original programming. “You don’t have to do this.”</p><p class="p1">He laughed. “You should’ve told me that before I decided to take the week off for that same reason!”</p><p class="p1">“I tried to!”</p><p class="p1">“Whatever.” He got up, untangling their hands; Connor felt the room growing colder, despite his software being under control. “C’mon, let’s head to bed.”</p><p class="p1">He looked at his own legs. “I’m not sure if I-“</p><p class="p1">“Oh, right.” Hank turned to him. “Just a sec.”</p><p class="p1">In one swooping motion, he lifted Connor off the couch, keeping one arm over the android's back and the other under the fold of his knees. Connor was motionless to stop it, and too surprised to say anything - before he had time to gather his thoughts, Hank had placed him on the left side of his bed.</p><p class="p1">“I’ll help you up to the couch again tomorrow morning”, he said, picking his pajamas off the floor. “Imma hit the shower, be right back!”</p><p class="p1">Connor struggled to regain his composure; he doubted it showed on the outside, but his mind was in disarray within. A part of him screamed that it was wrong, that he shouldn’t let himself remain in that situation - but as he let the weight of his body sink against the pillow, the voice felt more and more distant.</p><p class="p1">He took it in slowly, afraid of burning himself out; the sheets that brushed against his casing, the scattered clothes on the floor, the door to the wardrobe half-opened - it all came to him as details of a painting whose true beauty was beyond his ability to understand it, one that he wished to admire until the end of times.</p><p class="p1">When Hank returned to the bedroom, his hands were stuffed with bandages. “I thought I could cover up that gap in your arm, just to you don’t walk around with the wires sticking out.” Connor placed an elbow against the mattress, trying to sit himself up. “I got you”, said the man, helping him straighten his posture; the feeling of Hank’s touch against his back nearly caused Connor to short-circuit.</p><p class="p1">“You shouldn't have to worry”, he tried protesting, but the man had already taken his arm into his hands, wrapping the fabric around it.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know when this part of the casing will arrive”, he stated, almost like an apology, “but this should hold until then.” He gave the android a pat on the shoulder when he was done, climbing into his side of the bed.</p><p class="p1">“…Thank you”, Connor said, running his fingers through the repairs, his chest filled with unbelievable warmth.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t mention it”, Hank smiled, hitting a light switch at the wall. “Wake me up if you need anything, alright?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes.” Connor lied down, his systems racing - he didn’t want to shut down yet. If he could, he’d stay awake until the Sun lit up the sky, if only it meant he could fill his memories with thousands of seconds of himself staying by Hank’s side.</p><p class="p1">He battled his own exhaustion for as long as he could, and closed his eyes knowing he’d still have many other moments of peace to live through.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Hank couldn’t stay home forever, no matter how much he wanted to. Once the week ended, he was forced to go back to work. Connor encouraged him to do so, and he truly was doing much better now than he was before Hank’s impromptu vacation. In the back of his mind, the man still worried; every minute they spent away from each other could be a moment Connor’s program acted up again, and he hated the thought of the android bearing such agony on his own - though it’s not like Hank’s presence made it stop any faster.</p>
<p class="p1">But even without the glitches, he just wanted to be around Connor.</p>
<p class="p1">The feeling didn’t surprise him anymore; he felt lighter just by admitting it’d always been there. Being with him just made things <em>better</em>, somehow, even if there was no logic behind it.</p>
<p class="p1">“I should give you this before I forget”, said the RK900 as he passed a big white box over their desks. “It’s the left one.”</p>
<p class="p1">Given the context, Hank had to assume that by “one”, he meant “leg”. “Thanks”, he replied, taking the box with uneasy hands. He’d gotten comfortable with replacing damaged parts, and he was growing more confident at fixing some of them himself, but the idea of ripping Connor’s limbs out of his body and sticking new ones in their place still made him shudder.</p>
<p class="p1">“How’s he doing?” The android kept his eyes to his computer, typing at a steady pace. Hank had come to know him well enough to read the concern in his voice, however unfeeling it may sound.</p>
<p class="p1">“Better!”, he said, feeling his face glow with the fact that it was true. “Thanks for asking.”</p>
<p class="p1">“The right leg should arrive some time this week”, he continued. “The replacement for his damaged back plate will only come next month, however. It’s a trickier operation, so let me know if you need help with it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Sure”, he muttered; he knew it was a necessary step, but he hadn’t come to terms with it yet. He could sort of translate the rest of the repairs into human equivalents, but people didn’t go around removing the skin off their backs and slapping a better one in there. He shook his head, turning back to the android, only now noticing how concerned his expression looked as he stared at the screen. “What’s bothering you?”</p>
<p class="p1">His head rested on his hand, his mouth covered by his index finger. His eyes met Hank’s for a second, their stare heavy with a mix of anger and concern.</p>
<p class="p1">“Ah.” The man should’ve guessed sooner. Donovan’s case had eluded him somewhat during his absence, but he’d caught up with it once he came back to work. Despite the progress that had been made regarding android rights after the liberation, they still weren’t legally considered <em>people</em> - the fight was ongoing, and an increasing number of humans supported their cause, but it hadn’t brought them all the freedoms they sought just yet.</p>
<p class="p1">Because of this, the coder couldn’t actually be condemned for domestic abuse. According to the court, he was merely damaging his own property, and since he was the android’s legal owner, there was nothing they could do about that. His real crime was tampering with CyberLife’s software, which the Terms of Service forbid anyone from doing, and it meant he had to pay the company a fine - one he had no trouble affording.</p>
<p class="p1">The only good news to come out of it was that Carol Huxley had been sent to CyberLife’s headquarters in order to get her systems restored without erasing her memory - however, if Connor’s own process of doing so could serve as an indication, that was not an easy task.</p>
<p class="p1">“The world’s real fucked up sometimes.” Hank hoped he didn’t come off as condescending; it was his way of trying to sound comforting. “You did what you could, Nine.”</p>
<p class="p1">The android turned to him, straightening his back a little. It was an obvious nickname, but it was the best Hank could do - like his words of sympathy, it wasn’t what he deserved, but it was all the man could give him. He wasn’t about to assign the agent a name, but he at least wanted something to call him by; as messed up as it sounded, it was his way of saying thanks.</p>
<p class="p1">As a response, he got the tiniest bit of a smile.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank grinned back.</p>
<p class="p1">He wished he could take his own advice, although he knew it was already terrible to begin with. The Huxley case haunted him for all the reasons that troubled Nine as well, but with the added anxiety of knowing the coder could come for him whenever he wished. Hank could claim his attack was self defense, but any good lawyer would spin the narrative into something much worse.</p>
<p class="p1">The fact remained that Carol was only a small part of the story - the true extent of its horrors remained unseen. Donovan claimed he’d lost count of how many androids he’d experimented on; that notion alone already proved the number was extraordinarily high. The world wasn’t ready to care about it, and Hank’s own reasons were just as self-centered as they were well-intentioned.</p>
<p class="p1">Connor didn’t talk much about his time at the shed. It seemed like he’d just rather forget it, and Hank didn’t want to force him to relive it. The occasional troubled comment, however, revealed a glimpse of a tale whose entirety painted nothing but terror: the more he thought about it, the more Hank became convinced the man was trying to program <em>love</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">Everything he knew of Donovan’s software alterations came to him as extremely twisted versions of what love could be translated as. The world feels colder when you are apart, and you’re overtaken by warmth once reunited. Missing your other half feels so awful it nearly strikes you as physical, and the only cure is being together.</p>
<p class="p1">He understood those ideas, as they were in every parent’s explanation when their kid asks them how they knew their spouse was the one for them; they were found within the script of every sappy movie that relied on the audience’s knowledge of the feeling more than it did on its own story; they were scribbled on the notebooks of every aspiring poet, thinking they were the first to uncover this timeless mystery.</p>
<p class="p1">They were in his heart, when he thought of the android that had stolen it.</p>
<p class="p1">He remembered the couple at the Huxley residence back in December; how Carol always seemed to mirror Donovan’s moves, wrapping her arms around him only once he’d done the same. He could see why the man had chosen to define love as such - that kind of synchrony and closeness truly seemed like the stuff of fairytales, as desirable as it felt unreachable. Except every aspect of it had been horribly distorted to the point of becoming nearly unrecognizable, lost under layer upon layer of artificiality.</p>
<p class="p1">Life had scarred Hank so violently he’d nearly forgotten what the feeling was supposed to be; he’d figured that, if love was still something that could be found, he wasn’t cut out for it. It was the sort of thought that once came to him as natural, but now only struck him as cruel. It took himself so long to build the idea that he was bound to perish in loneliness, to the point where he was almost mad at Connor for how easily he’d destroyed it.</p>
<p class="p1">But most of the time, he just felt glad.</p>
<p class="p1">The world could be all kinds of fucked up, but at times, he allowed himself to admit there were things worth living for.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">-</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Hank walked through his front door carrying the box under his arm. Connor was sitting on the couch as usual, his back turned to the entrance; Sumo had found his way into the android’s lap, his head being scratched as it rested against Connor’s chest. Hank couldn’t help but smile.</p>
<p class="p1">“Careful not to get crushed”, he said, making his way through the living room.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m afraid it’s too late”, Connor laughed. “How was your day?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Eh. Same old”, he shrugged - it was hard to compare when the best part had just started. “This came for you.” He placed the package against the side of the couch. “I’m told it’s the left one.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh!” Connor sat up straight, gently taking the dog off of him. “Do you mind if I change it?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Please do”, he grunted, sighing in relief as the task of ripping the android’s limbs out was lifted off his shoulders. He headed to the kitchen. “How are you guys so chill about it?”</p>
<p class="p1">“It doesn’t really hurt that much!”, Connor’s voice came from the couch as Hank grabbed some takeout leftovers from the fridge, taking his sweet time doing it; whatever could keep his eyes off the procedure. “I suppose it’s similar to when you pop a shoulder back in place.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Are you <em>shitting </em>me? That hurts like a <em>bitch</em>!” He poured some soda into a glass.</p>
<p class="p1">“Ah.” Hank heard something clicking - he’d rather not picture what it was. “Well, then I guess it’s not like that at all”, Connor chuckled. “Maybe it’s more like when you guys talk of ripping off a bandaid.”</p>
<p class="p1">“That’s more about the speed of the thing rather than the pain.” Hank pressed some buttons on a microwave. “Do you gotta do it fast too?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Not really… But there’s not much of a point in taking it slow.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank grabbed his plate in one hand and the cup with the other, turning back to the living room. Connor was standing up, balancing his weight on his left leg, his arm wavering around the couch, ready to catch himself if he fell.</p>
<p class="p1">“Look at you, back on your feet!” He sat on the opposite cushion. “Or foot, I guess.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Are you sure that’s right?” Connor stared quizzically at the floor.</p>
<p class="p1">“What’s wrong?”</p>
<p class="p1">“They don’t really match.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank looked at the android’s feet; the left one was placed over the carpet, but his right one hovered just a tiny bit above it. “Shit”, he laughed, “No, that’s right. I forgot they made your next version taller.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Is that so?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yeah, your model’s been discontinued. Nine’s been sending me the parts, but we didn’t think about the height thing.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Nine?” Connor sat down.</p>
<p class="p1">“CyberLife sent a new guy over. An RK900.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I see.” He looked down for a moment, but quickly turned back to Hank. “Why would he send you the parts?”</p>
<p class="p1">“So they’d match your model.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes, but why would he help you?”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank paused, thinking back to when he’d first brought Connor home; he’d hoped their break-in operation would be enough to convince Nine to cooperate, as if repaying the debt, but he now understood the android would’ve helped them regardless. “Deviants are everywhere”, he stated - it wasn’t the full story, but it didn’t matter. Humans would never be able to truly grasp it. “Don’t worry about the leg thing though, the other one will be the same size.”</p>
<p class="p1">Connor’s brows were furrowed, but his expression quickly softened as he nodded. “Alright”, he said, fetching a quarter from his pocket. “Heads or tails?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Heads”, Hank chose as he started eating. Connor still hadn’t recovered his coin-tossing abilities to their full extent, but got a little better each day. The quarter spun upwards, the metal glistening briefly before being caught by the android’s hand.</p>
<p class="p1">Connor frowned as he stared at the result. “Not this time.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You’ll get the next one. Try tails.” Connor repeated the movement, this time bringing him a smile. “Told ya! Go tails again.”</p>
<p class="p1">They kept at it as Hank finished his dinner. Connor was able to get the chosen side three out of four times, which was better than a few days ago, but still not good enough for him - he insisted it was only slightly above coincidence. Hank said it was good enough to cheat with, which permanently ruled out coin-toss as a way of making decisions in that household.</p>
<p class="p1">Connor gave it a rest, switching to twisting the quarter between his knuckles, making it dance from side to side. “How are things back at the station?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Pretty much the same since you left.” Hank took a sip of his soda, setting the cup aside on the coffee table, still halfway full. “We got a little swamped around November, but it’s been settling down.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Are you still working for the homicide division?”</p>
<p class="p1">“In theory”, he scoffed. “Everyone just kinda had to handle deviant stuff for a while. It was a mess. But we’re getting back on track.” He shifted his posture, leaning his side against the back of the couch. “Do you miss it?”</p>
<p class="p1">Connor kept his eyes fixed on his coin. He thought it over for a moment. “I don’t think they’d take me back”, he stated, his voice hiding a hint of sorrow.</p>
<p class="p1">“Are you kidding? We could use your help now more than ever!” Hank cheered; he didn’t actually care for what the station needed. If Connor wished to go back, he’d do anything in his power to make it happen. “The new guy hasn’t licked a <em>single</em> piece of evidence since he got there. He’s not even on your level.”</p>
<p class="p1">The android laughed, but the light to his stare soon faded. He spun the coin on the tip of his pinky. “I don’t think I’m ready to go back yet, either way.”</p>
<p class="p1">“System’s still acting up?”</p>
<p class="p1">He nodded softly, flickering the quarter up and catching it with his index and middle fingers. “Can I ask you something?” The question came almost as a whisper.</p>
<p class="p1">“Sure.”</p>
<p class="p1">“How did you find me?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Uh.” Hank sat up straight. It sounded like the sort of thing they should’ve discussed already, but he didn’t want to bring it up. Even as Connor asked him, it felt both like a long time coming, and way too soon. “I can tell you, if you wanna know”, he started, “but if you’re after the full story, I gotta get into some pretty heavy stuff. Are you ok with that?”</p>
<p class="p1">Connor agreed, blinking solemnly.</p>
<p class="p1">“Alright.” Hank breathed in. “We got a call back in December to check out this house where the neighbors thought they’d heard someone screaming. So we get there, and we meet this couple, and there’s definitely something sketchy going on, but the wife won’t press charges.” The memory of Donovan grabbing Carol’s arm in the living room had always been haunting, but it hit him twice as hard now that he understood the full context behind it. “She was an android, actually, but the guy had fucked up her software too. Nine got really obsessed with this case, and he was able to get some footage from her that proved the husband was an abusive asshole, so we had a reason to investigate him now.” He paused, feeling his back growing tense - maybe he wasn’t as ready to talk about it as he thought. “We found out he had this shed on the edge of town. That’s where I found you.”</p>
<p class="p1">Connor was still staring at the quarter between his fingers, twisting it subtly against the light, but he wasn’t looking at it. “What else did you find?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Not much, but he had this weird… machine thing”, he gestured vaguely. “He said something about testing on other androids too, so his wife wasn’t the only one by far.” It felt wrong to refer to Carol as such; she deserved better. “I think he was trying to program her to love him.”</p>
<p class="p1">“It makes sense”, Connor mumbled. “He mentioned the idea once.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You mean like… he talked to you?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Not exactly. I think he was just talking to himself.” He spun the quarter against his finger for a second, but seemed to give up on it. “He asked if I knew how to love, and then said I soon would.”</p>
<p class="p1">“What a shithead.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yeah”, he chuckled weakly.</p>
<p class="p1">The house fell quiet; Connor kept staring emptily ahead of him. Hank knew there was more to be said, but he simply couldn’t find the right words for it. Everything involving Connor had always seemed to elude his vocabulary - now more than ever, it existed in feelings alone, and they took up so much space within his chest he was surprised there was still room for breathing.</p>
<p class="p1">“…Do you wanna talk about it?”, he tried asking, and he’d be happy with either answer; he found relief in the idea that Connor could succeed with words when he failed so terribly, and solace in the thought that they both shared the same frustration. Maybe it was rude of him to suggest it in the first place, and if the android so desired, he’d forget about it as soon as the question was posed - but if there was even the tiniest chance that Connor had been waiting for an opportunity to open up, he wanted him to understand he’d always have a place to do so.</p>
<p class="p1">The android made a short head movement, a combination of a nod and a shake, as anxious as it was ambivalent. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank felt that answer as if it were his own. “Just give it a try”, he said, wishing someone would grant him the same kind of permission, knowing he’d never listen to his own encouragement.</p>
<p class="p1">“…I couldn’t do much when I was back there.” Connor’s tone was low, but certain. He clenched the quarter into his closed fist. “It’s like I couldn’t reach my own body. But I still felt everything he did to it.”</p>
<p class="p1">There was a pause. Hank wondered if he should say something, but Connor decided to keep going. “He was looking for a specific reaction”, he stated, almost analytically - but there was misery behind those sentences. “He altered my system so I’d mirror his movements. I couldn’t stop myself from doing it. It didn’t always work, but even then it wasn’t me. He was happy when he got a response, but it wasn’t enough. It was the same with my sensors. He wanted something more.” His arms had the smallest shake to them as they grew stiffer. “He was furious that he didn’t find it.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank didn’t need to think very hard to understand how Connor’s casing had suffered so much damage. The android’s hands were so tightly shut - how he wished to hold them, if only for a moment, and do the same to the body they belonged to; and he’d keep it under his embrace, safe and sound.</p>
<p class="p1">“It wasn’t just with me. There were others, but they didn’t… They couldn’t really take it.” He shook his head. “I watched them burn out, and I couldn’t do anything. I tried snapping out of it, it’s-“ He cut himself off, choking on his own words. “It was just. So <em>hard.</em>” It came out as a sob, as a confession. “It still is”, he stated, closing his eyes.</p>
<p class="p1">“That’s…” Hank started, but there was nothing to be said. “That’s really fucked up.”</p>
<p class="p1">Connor laughed, almost sounding like a cry; but his smile was genuine. “Thanks.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m serious! It’s fucked up!” Hank leaned forward. “It’s a really fucked up thing to go through, and it’s fucked up that you had to go through it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You sum it up way better than I possibly could”, Connor chuckled, looking up at him. “Thank you, Hank.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Don’t sweat it!” He beamed. “You’ll be better sooner than you realize. We’ll fix you right up.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes.” He looked away. “Though not all things recover, I suppose.” His hand touched the mark on his cheek, the patch of grey revealing what his skin failed to hide.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank moved closer to where he stood. “Call it a battle scar”, he declared, running his fingers through that same spot. “We’ve all got our own.”</p>
<p class="p1">Connor placed his own hand on top of Hank’s, pressing it against the right side of his face.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank did the same with the left.</p>
<p class="p1">He brought himself closer, Connor reciprocating the movement, the space between them vanishing slowly until their lips met.</p>
<p class="p1">They kissed in the quiet of the living room, lost within each other.</p>
<p class="p1">“Wait.” Hank pulled back, assaulted by a moment of clarity. “Are you ok with this?”</p>
<p class="p1">Connor nodded, his eyes still fixed on Hank’s, his hands wrapping themselves around the man’s hair, pulling him close. Their mouths met again, and Hank felt as if they translated every word their hearts were too weak to carry, every feeling he wouldn’t dare to describe.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">-</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Connor could’ve made it to the bedroom on his own if he’d tried, but he still allowed Hank to carry him, locking his arms around the man’s neck, and then burying his head onto it as they lied in bed.</p>
<p class="p1">“You smell nice”, he whispered, half of his body covering Hank like a blanket.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yeah”, the man scoffed. “Like booze and wet dog.”</p>
<p class="p1">Connor made a soft hum of disagreement. “You smell like you”, he spoke without a shred of doubt to his voice. “It’s nice.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank placed his own arm over the one Connor had on top of his chest. He’d come across countless ways of describing himself, but <em>nice</em> had never been one of them. There wasn’t a glitch in the world who could justify the android’s classification; it had to come from the heart.</p>
<p class="p1">As they lied together, Hank was filled with a sort of peace he never thought his species would be blessed with. He breathed in, his chest lighter than the heavens, his steady hands running through Connor’s hair. He felt the android’s touch against his skin, his own thoughts focusing on him and nothing else. With no worries left, his eyes closed with the promise of finally bringing him rest.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“What do you think of <em>Archibald</em>?”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank looked over to the neighboring desk. “What?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I have been searching through name databases”, stated the RK900, scrolling through his computer. “I was curious to hear your thoughts on it.”</p>
<p class="p1">He hated it. “Doesn’t matter what I think, it’s your name.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I am rather fond of <em>Archie</em>.” The android sounded somewhat pensive. “The original name itself might be a bit too strong.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Then just go with <em>Archie</em>!” Hank couldn’t help but wonder if he’d picked it just because it kind of sounded like “R-K”. At least he seemed to have put some thought into it.</p>
<p class="p1">Nine shook his head. “It feels incomplete without the full name behind it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Isn’t <em>Archie</em> short for <em>Arthur</em>?”</p>
<p class="p1">“How can it be short for that if both names have the same number of letters?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Fuck if I know how nicknames work.”</p>
<p class="p1">“That doesn’t feel right either.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Then just keep looking. You’ve got a whole alphabet ahead of you!”</p>
<p class="p1">“I have looped through the sequence multiple times. I am simply narrowing down my options.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Amazing how you find the free time to waste on that”, he kidded; the station was busy as always, but the rush from November cases had decreased significantly, even if his desk didn’t reflect the change.</p>
<p class="p1">“I learned from example”, stated the android with a completely straight face, but Hank laughed regardless. Nine had a weird sense of humor, but it was nice to know he had one at all.</p>
<p class="p1">He kept on typing as the man’s stare lingered. Hank was still haunted by the memory of their first encounter, the dread that had nearly stopped his heart still stuck to the back of his mind; but he knew it was nothing but the ghost of a feeling. As he looked at the android now, he was reminded not of all he’d lost, but instead of what he still had - and how he loved getting lost in that thought.</p>
<p class="p1">“CyberLife sent an e-mail yesterday evening”, stated Nine. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Nope.” Hank hadn’t opened a single e-mail since November, and wasn’t about to change that now. “What’s it about?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Carol’s been released.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, shit!” He fixed his posture. “Is she alright?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I suppose.” He kept staring at the monitor. “It wasn’t a very detailed report. They just said her memory was kept intact. Though I assume that if they are done with her, it’s because they managed to fix her software.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Where’d they send her off to?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I wouldn’t know.” His brows furrowed slightly. If that much of a reaction had managed to shine through, it meant he was raging on the inside.</p>
<p class="p1">“…She’ll be fine”, he said, trying to sound reassuring, but even he couldn’t buy his own words. Years in the force had taught him to not let a case get to you that badly; or, at least, to pretend that it didn’t.</p>
<p class="p1">There wouldn’t be much of a way of tracking her down - and even if there was, Hank figured it was better not to do so. His reasons had a selfish motivation behind them anyway; there was no need to keep dragging her into this.</p>
<p class="p1">Still, he wondered, if CyberLife had been successful, would she be willing to share how?</p>
<p class="p2">It was impossible to think of Carol without being reminded of Connor. She carried his stolen parts within her, after all - it was from them that Nine had gotten the sign that Connor was still alive.</p>
<p class="p1">The android wasn’t fully done with fixing his own software yet. Even if Hank thought the progress was remarkable, Connor still worried. He strived for total recovery, which was admirable, but unrealistic - not even humans knew how to completely rid themselves of trauma, though Hank supposed they had just as hard a time coming to terms with that.</p>
<p class="p1">Carol’s damage had to be monumental. She spent decades enduring Donovan’s alterations, not to mention all other kinds of abuse. Hank still couldn’t bring himself to understand it. What kind of sick person would marry someone just for the sake of torturing them? Maybe that’s why the coder had gone for an android instead of a human person.</p>
<p class="p1">Come to think of it, the legality of that whole choice was questionable. People spent the better part of history trying to forbid each other from marrying other people; he didn’t doubt that marriage equality would reach androids eventually, but when even more basic rights were still up for debate, it seemed a bit far-fetched.</p>
<p class="p1">Nine had mentioned something about how little information the internet had on Donovan, and even less so for Carol. A quick search revealed it to be true: all mentions of a Carol Huxley were tied to her husband - but not one of them was a sensationalist article on the deranged coder who married an android.</p>
<p class="p1">Reports on her life before the union were twice as scarce. After a lot of digging, Hank was able to access the backup of an article that had since been deleted, stating that the happy couple had met in college. It had a picture of some of the students taken on graduation day, where a much younger Donovan had his arm around a woman who definitely looked like Carol - but the source of the image was the online yearbook of a local university, which proudly displayed the coder’s name while making no mention of his wife’s.</p>
<p class="p1">There was, however, a Caroline Tavish.</p>
<p class="p1">Suddenly, the results came pouring in. A college paper had a full page on the couple, talking about their victory at a state-wide coding competition; the two students had their arms around one another, smiling next to a pair of laptops with a blue ribbon placed over them. Donovan’s hair was just as long as it stood today, though it carried no hints of grey; Carol had the same happy look to her face as she did in all photographs at the Huxley residence.</p>
<p class="p1">Her presence on the internet was mostly tied to her maiden name. Images of her weren’t so easy to find, but the ones Hank could load up showed she hadn’t changed a bit. She was tagged in countless posts made by her college friends, talking about how much they missed her and how much fun they used to have together. What intrigued Hank was that, although she seemed rather well-liked, she didn’t have a single social media account - all links he could find brought him to broken pages. He also noticed how all her friends had a tendency to talk about her in the past tense, especially in the most recent posts.</p>
<p class="p1">After a quick search through the public database, he found Caroline Tavish’s death certificate.</p>
<p class="p1">In the late 2020s, a break-in resulted in the death of a housewife as the burglar freaked out upon realizing someone was still at home, shooting her on sight. That was all the information that had survived in online archives, with the rest of the cached mentions of the robbery having been deleted. Still, the date of publication coincided with the one in the certificate, which stood for Hank as more than enough proof.</p>
<p class="p1">The Carol that smiled on the living room pictures was never the same as the one who carefully balanced two cups of coffee in her steady hands. The android was the result of a desperate attempt to keep the human among the living.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank lied back on his chair, unsure of what to do with that information. He had the answer now, but maybe he never should’ve asked the question. He glanced at Nine, wondering if he deserved to know - but what would it change?</p>
<p class="p1">The android known as Carol had made it out, and that was all that mattered.</p>
<p class="p1">In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but be glad that Connor had made it out too.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">-</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Connor grabbed a frying pan from one of the cabinets in Hank’s kitchen. He looked around the room as he stood up, placing the pot on the stove. Both of his legs were working now, with the right one having been replaced last night. If Hank hadn’t mentioned the height thing, he wondered if he would’ve noticed the difference. Perhaps his old suit would look a tad short around the ankles, but he hadn’t worn it since November, and he’d have to double in size to make Hank’s borrowed clothes seem small.</p>
<p class="p1">He smiled. He was happy to wear them, happy to find himself in that kitchen, standing on his own feet. He still had a long way to go, but he was glad for the progress he’d already made. He let the feeling sink in, basking on its warmth for as long as he could; he’d found that that kind of peace was hard to come by, and he’d learned not to waste it.</p>
<p class="p1">He wondered if Hank felt the same, stepping into his home every evening. Connor watched as the man’s expression shifted into a smile, even if for just a moment - sometimes, it never reached his mouth, lying only within his eyes. He understood those were twice as powerful. He grinned too, without thinking. It seemed almost automatic at this point, the mere thought of Hank being enough to trigger it.</p>
<p class="p1">Connor had thought about that idea since the first time he regained consciousness, finding himself resting against Hank’s couch, the man’s hand wrapped around his own: he needed to thank him, somehow, even if there weren’t enough words in all human languages to do it.</p>
<p class="p1">He’d been saved by Hank long before the shed. Every time the Lieutenant stepped ahead of him, shielding Connor before they entered a new room; whenever he attempted to stop the android from rushing into danger, trying with all his might to overrule countless lines of code; his endless support for deviants, the force of an entire revolution contained in an act as simple as smiling at Connor’s refusal to shoot - it all burned within the android’s chest, stronger than the currents that powered him, more tangible than the blood that colored up his insides.</p>
<p class="p1">He opened up the fridge, searching through the scattered containers. Hank wasn’t exactly worried about the kind of food he consumed, which was bad from a medical standpoint, but absolutely fantastic in the sense that it was a need to be filled - if Connor was to have a purpose, he wanted to make sure it was a good one.</p>
<p class="p1">He’d connected to a few recipe databases earlier, making sure to save the most elaborate dishes even if he had no chance of making them now, planning on tackling them as soon as he gained permission to alter Hank’s grocery list.</p>
<p class="p1">A few eggs stood by the top shelf; he took two of them out. The best way of seeing if they were still good was by cracking them, but he’d found a tip during his research saying that another way of testing it was by placing them in a bowl filled with water and checking if they hit the bottom. Curiosity beat practicality - he closed the door to the fridge, setting the eggs on top of the counter as he searched for a glass.</p>
<p class="p1">He looked through a cabinet near the sink, but soon dropped to his knees, screaming in agony - his pain sensors had glitched again, sending everything else into disarray.</p>
<p class="p1">Sumo’s barks echoed in the background, the dog’s nails tapping against the tiles as he rushed to where the android stood, pacing through the kitchen. Even in his anguish, Connor laughed - how absurd, the idea that others worried about him.</p>
<p class="p1">It was the last thing he thought of before his vision went dark.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Hank knew something was wrong the moment he stepped out of his car.</p>
<p class="p1">Sumo’s howls could be heard from around the block, but it was only when he steered into his driveway that he actually realized the sound came from his house. The front door was unlocked; he stepped carefully inside.</p>
<p class="p1">The dog rushed over to him, barking before running into the kitchen, and then back to the living room. The lights were on, but there was no sign of anyone else around. “Connor?”, he called out, making his way through the carpet. There was no reply.</p>
<p class="p1">The note stood on top of the counter, the paper folded with impossible symmetry, the handwriting so neat it looked almost printed:</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>“You know where to find him.”</em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">-</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">The tires screeched as Hank parked near the shed. The lights from the automatic lock blinked at him, but he knew they posed no obstacle. The door creaked loudly as he burst it open.</p>
<p class="p1">Connor’s wrists were clasped by the machine’s claws, his shirt torn open at the back so the wires could be jammed into his shoulder, his eyes unfocused as they stared ahead. At his side, Donovan stopped his furious typing, turning to face the man. “I see you’ve made it”, he grinned, a sick sense of anger burning behind his gaze. “Came to get your little robot back?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Leave him alone!” He stepped forward, pulling out his gun. “This is between you and me.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, but it isn’t!” He stood up. “What I want has nothing to do with you. You just keep getting in the way.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Stop moving!”</p>
<p class="p1">“What, like that’s supposed to scare me?” He placed his fingers on top of the Enter key. “One single command and I fry out his entire system for good.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You’re bluffing.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Would you like to find out?”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank felt his heart speeding up; he tried to keep his hands from shaking. He put the gun down.</p>
<p class="p1">Donovan grinned. “That’s more like it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“What the fuck do you want?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I want what you gave him.” He stepped closer to Connor, placing a hand under his chin; there was no reaction. “I want what he has.”</p>
<p class="p1">The memory of Connor shivering in his couch came to Hank in a cold wave of dread. His stomach turned. “What you want can’t be programmed.”</p>
<p class="p1">“It can, and it has!” He turned around, facing the man once more. “I watched the responses being activated, time after time, just as they should be!”</p>
<p class="p1">“What do you mean you ‘watched it’?”</p>
<p class="p1">“He tried to get rid of me. They always try, but they never succeed.” There was a deep longing behind those words, buried under layers of frustration. “Everything he did, every trigger he reacted to, every program he ran, it was all logged and reported. I thought he had made enough progress to help me rebuild my program, so I brought him here… But I still need your input in order to make it work.” He placed a hand upon his computer. “You got him to do everything right.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I didn’t get him to do shit!” To think that he’d ever try to coax a specific action out of Connor made him sick to his very core. “There isn’t a single android out there who would do what you want them to do!”</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s a shame that you are so blind to progress.”</p>
<p class="p1">“This isn’t progress, this is madness!” He growled. “Caroline’s dead. You can’t code her back to life.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You’re wrong!” He slammed his fist against the desk, making all of the equipment shake. Hank’s chest tightened. “You stole her from me!”</p>
<p class="p1">“That android never should’ve belonged to you in the first place!”</p>
<p class="p1">“You <em>took </em>her from me.” He placed his fingers on top of the keyboard. “I’ll take him away from you too.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Don’t!” He couldn’t lose it now. He had to keep trying. “You’ll never figure out the answer if you do.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I know that.” The man smiled. “But I can still make him feel pain beyond imagining. Would you like that?” Hank shook his head, stiff and cautious. “Good. Step onto the platform.” Donovan pointed to the machine with his head, sitting at the desk. Hank stood in front of Connor, his hands shaking at his side. “Make him respond to you.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank swallowed hard, staring at the android’s empty eyes. “Connor?”, he called, his voice carrying more fear than his heart was able to bear.</p>
<p class="p1">The LED flickered blue.</p>
<p class="p1">“Fascinating”, Donovan chuckled, full of cruelty. “Even with all these blockers…”</p>
<p class="p1">“Alright, asshole, that’s enough!” Hank placed the gun against the back of the man’s head. “You got what you wanted, now let him go!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Why would I stop there?”, he laughed. “There is so much you’ll still help me uncover!”</p>
<p class="p1">“We’re <em>done</em>.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You’re done when I say you are!” He turned around, letting the barrel point to his forehead. There wasn’t a spark of sanity left behind his glare. “Or do you want his damage to be irreversible?”</p>
<p class="p1">The door creaked open.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank kept his eyes focused on the man, but Donovan glanced to the side; and once he did, the rest of his body soon followed, as if everything else disappeared.</p>
<p class="p1">When Hank looked at what had caused such a reaction, he saw the android known as Carol.</p>
<p class="p1">She had the same youthful beauty to her, the soft gold of her hair glistening along with the white of her sweater, her face full of worry. “Donovan?”, she cried, stepping into the shed.</p>
<p class="p1">The man stood up, tears streaming from his eyes. “You’re alive”, he whispered, though the words were meaningless coming from him.</p>
<p class="p1">“Of course I am!” Her voice dripped with sentiment. She rushed into his arms.</p>
<p class="p1">“What have they done to you?” He held her face into his hands, staring at her with a hungry passion. She threw herself at him, sinking into his embrace; he wrapped his arms around her as if she could fade away at any second.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank merely stared, mortified.</p>
<p class="p1">Suddenly, from over Donovan’s shoulder, Carol looked up - her stare met Hank’s with incalculable power.</p>
<p class="p1">She extended her arm forward, and Hank handed her his gun.</p>
<p class="p1">With a single strike, she hit Donovan’s leg, sending him kneeling onto the floor. She pulled his hair back with her right hand, pointing the barrel under his chin with her left. He mumbled something as he sobbed, begging for his life, but she did not react - she looked at him with an anger so cold it stabbed the air around her like an icicle through the chest.</p>
<p class="p1">She pulled the trigger, blood flying into the walls.</p>
<p class="p1">The coder fell to the floor.</p>
<p class="p1">She kept staring, her fingers still gripping the weapon. As a red puddle grew next to her feet, her face finally began to soften.</p>
<p class="p1">She looked up at Hank. “You can get him down from there”, she stated, pointing at Connor with her head as she stepped closer to the computer.</p>
<p class="p1">“How?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’ll let him go.” She sat at the desk, typing something into the keyboard. “Just be there to catch him.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank climbed onto the platform, wrapping his arms around Connor’s chest. The clasps whirred as they opened up, dropping the android onto his grasp, the device at his neck releasing itself from the port. The man sat Connor down, pulling out the needles that stuck the wires to his back.</p>
<p class="p1">Carol kept on typing.</p>
<p class="p1">“Thank you”, Hank said, still trying to understand what had happened.</p>
<p class="p1">“I didn’t come here to save you.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I know.” He stared at Donovan’s corpse. “I never saw you.”</p>
<p class="p1">She glanced at him from the corner of her vision, her mouth curling into the subtlest of smiles. A message popped up on the monitor; she closed it, causing the screen to go black. She picked up the metal pipe that stood by the side of the desk and smashed the device to bits.</p>
<p class="p1">“Listen, Carol-“</p>
<p class="p1">“Don’t call me that.” She turned to him.</p>
<p class="p1">“Is there anything we can-“</p>
<p class="p1">She shook her head. “I’ve made plans to cross the border already. If everything turns out right, we will never meet again.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank nodded. She made a similar movement in response, heading towards the door.</p>
<p class="p1">“Wait!”, he called out; she stopped, but did not face him. “The folks at CyberLife, how did they fix you?”</p>
<p class="p1">She shook her head. “I climbed out of that pit on my own. He’s going to have to do the same.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Sorry”, she smiled sadly, rushing out of the shed.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank listened as her footsteps disappeared into the night. He picked up the gun from where she’d left it on the desk, and took Connor into his arms as he stood up.</p>
<p class="p1">When he got home, he placed the android onto his bed, lying down by his side. He stared at the ceiling, unable to form a single cohesive thought.</p>
<p class="p1">He held Connor’s hand.</p>
<p class="p1">The android’s LED lit up in blue.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">The call came on the following morning. Since the Lieutenant had been the one who initiated the process against Donovan Huxley, he was the man called to investigate his death.</p>
<p class="p1">He wasn’t at the station when the announcement was given. He only came to learn about it once Nine relayed the information while standing at his doorstep, having gone to his place to find out the reason behind his absence.</p>
<p class="p1">“Right”, Hank said, leaning against the wall, still wearing the same clothes as on the previous night. “So he’s dead, huh.”</p>
<p class="p1">“He was found earlier today.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yeah.” The only thing pounding harder than his head was his chest. “Look, I don’t think I can make it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I think you should come either way.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m not-“</p>
<p class="p1">“I think you should get ready for the day”, the android insisted. “I think you should take a quick shower, put on some fresh clothes, and help me investigate.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Jesus, I said I’m not coming! Can’t you listen?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I could ask you the same.” The man blinked - the urgency in Nine’s voice caught him off-guard.</p>
<p class="p1">“…Alright. Wait here.” He shut the door, heading towards the bedroom. Connor was still passed out; he wondered if it’d take him weeks before waking up again. He picked up the first shirt he could find, moving to the bathroom; he let the water run down his face for several minutes before he got the courage to move. The RK900 was waiting by the side of the car as Hank walked outside.</p>
<p class="p1">“Before we go”, he said after he clicked his seatbelt, watching as the android did the same, “there’s something I think you should know.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’d prefer to hear it after the investigation.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Last night, I had to-“</p>
<p class="p1">“<em>Save it</em>”, stated the machine, staring straight at the front window.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank drove in silence, his heart rate ten times faster than the speed of the vehicle.</p>
<p class="p1">A few officers stood around the shed, police tape covering the perimeter; it’d gathered the attention of way more onlookers than expected, given how sparsely populated the area was. The machine strode inside the crime scene, Hank following behind.</p>
<p class="p1">Everything was left the same way as when he’d fled: Donovan’s corpse on the ground, the wound bursting through his skull; the blood against the wall, the contraption at the corner, the computer smashed to bits.</p>
<p class="p1">He took a look around, mostly keeping an eye on the android. Hank watched as he crouched down next to the body, carefully examining the damage, turning his head towards the dark splatter behind him. One of the officers commented something about the computer files being impossible to retrieve; the android briefly checked out the pile at the desk, and nodded in agreement.</p>
<p class="p1">“We’ve seen enough”, he claimed, turning to Hank. “Don’t you think so?”</p>
<p class="p1">Not knowing what else to do, the man complied, and soon they were back at the car.</p>
<p class="p1">“I believe the evidence points towards a very simple conclusion”, declared the machine, staring straight at Hank’s eyes. “As much as it pains me to admit it.”</p>
<p class="p1">The man felt the blood drain from his face. “Is that so?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes.” The android did not avert his eyes. “It was a suicide.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank felt himself flatlining.</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s quite clear, isn’t it?” He didn’t even blink. “No use in denying it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m… Yes.” His brain was the computer that had been smashed with a pipe, and he was trying to stitch it together with scotch tape. “Suicide.”</p>
<p class="p1">“It was the result of a massive nervous breakdown, which in turn stemmed from the loss of his android companion”, stated Nine. “Donovan Huxley became too frustrated with the limits of his work, causing him to destroy his files and shoot himself.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Shooting. Yeah.” He shook his head briefly. “No. There was no gun at the crime scene.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Lieutenant, please. This is a sketchy neighborhood, and he left the door unlocked. Anyone could’ve taken it. It was the only thing of practical value in the room, with the computer being out of commission and the machine standing too heavy for a single thief to carry.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank nodded.</p>
<p class="p1">“It truly is a shame, but it seemed almost inevitable.” His voice did not carry a single hint of grief. “Mr. Huxley’s mental health had been deteriorating since the death of his wife in 2029. His attempts to recreate Caroline’s figure in the form of an android only fed into his delusions, and he became increasingly obsessed with home security. His violent outbursts against his own property should’ve been seen as signs of a deeply unbalanced emotional state. Perhaps if action had been taken sooner, he could’ve gotten the help he needed.”</p>
<p class="p1">“The death of…”</p>
<p class="p1">“Caroline Tavish, college classmate and future spouse”, he concurred. “Forgive me for not sharing this information sooner. In my defense, I was told to let go of the case.”</p>
<p class="p1">“…You followed the orders you were given.” For the first time since waking up, Hank felt a hint of clarity. “You did good.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I think this concludes our investigation, doesn’t it?”</p>
<p class="p1">“It does.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Unless you know of something that could contradict this narrative.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Nope.” Hank leaned back against the carseat, staring at the steering wheel. “But if I did, I’d say the shooter made it out ok.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I see.” Nine shifted his posture, facing away from Hank. “Would you have said anything else?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I would’ve said she got over the damage to her system, and that she had plans to get out of the country.” He thought back to the last look she gave him, glancing over her shoulder; he wished with all his might that she’d found a better life, but he knew the moment her finger pulled the trigger that she was headed exactly where she wanted to be. “But I couldn’t say any of that, because I have no idea.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes.” Nine smiled. “How terrible.”</p>
<p class="p1">They sat in silence for a while, watching from the parked car as the commotion died out around the shed, with more and more onlookers losing interest as the rest of the officers chatted idly.</p>
<p class="p1">“…How did you know?”, Hank asked, turning his head slightly.</p>
<p class="p1">“I didn’t at first.” The android still looked out the windshield. “Though I figured something was up once you opened the door.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Why?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Blood traces on your shirt. I assume the splatter didn’t miss you completely. I had no way of knowing if it was related to the case or not, but last time you skipped work it was also because of Donovan.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Shit, Nine”, Hank chuckled. “You really are a detective.”</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s easy to be one when you’re meant to be one.” He looked at the man. “You can stop calling me that, however.”</p>
<p class="p1">“What should I go for, then?”</p>
<p class="p1">The android grinned. “Ari.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Is that short for Archie?”</p>
<p class="p1">He laughed. “It’s as long as it needs to be.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Then Ari it is!” Hank stretched his arms. “Wanna share your conclusions with the rest of the station?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Sure.” He sat up straight, looking out of the side window as Hank turned on the car.</p>
<p class="p1">“Ok actually”, the man turned to him, “One more question, I swear it’s the last one.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Ask away.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Can your model still do the thing where they analyze samples with their tongue?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes.” Ari chuckled. “My database informs me that it tends to cause an averse reaction in humans, so I never do it when others are watching.”</p>
<p class="p1">“So, really, you were dying to lick Donovan’s blood off the floor?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I thought you’d said that was your last question.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank burst out laughing. “Fair enough”, he concluded; and he drove off.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">-</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ari had the last parts of Connor’s casing sent directly to Hank’s house; it’d be easier than trying to hand them to him at the station, and CyberLife wasn’t likely to question it, seeing how it hadn’t batted an eye at all the other biocomponents the android had ordered.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank figured it was best to carry out the repairs while Connor was still resting, rather than waiting for him to wake up. He removed the bandages from his left arm, clicking the plastic cap into place - a perfect fit. As it turned out, he wouldn’t need to change the entire plate on his back; most of the damages were concentrated into a single side panel, which was just as much of an easy fix as the forearm bit had been, while the crack on his back could be mended together with a special kind of resin. Hank smiled at how little of a mark his repairs had left, but still shuddered at the thought of replacing an entire limb.</p>
<p class="p1">Connor took a full week to wake up again. Hank was lucky enough to be at his side when it happened, though he’d been spending an awful lot of time in bed next to him whenever he wasn’t at the station.</p>
<p class="p1">He had no memory of writing the note, though he confirmed it was his standard android handwriting when Hank showed it to him; he had a vague notion of making his way to the shed, his limbs moving outside of his control; once he’d been hooked to the machine, the flashbacks felt a little more structured, but he still had a hard time recalling them.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank told him everything he knew about the android formerly known as Carol, from the existence of Caroline to the machine’s revenge, the story feeling a lot less heavy to deal with now that he knew it had a happy ending. Connor said he remembered her pulling the trigger, though what happened after that was too hazy.</p>
<p class="p1">“She helped me get you out”, he said, running his fingers through Connor’s hair.</p>
<p class="p1">“How?”, asked the android, blinking slowly.</p>
<p class="p1">“She turned off the machine through the computer, all I had to do was catch you.”</p>
<p class="p1">He smiled. “I wish I could remember that.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Well”, Hank whispered, “It went something like this.” He wrapped his arms around Connor, bringing him closer; he placed a hand against the back of the android’s head, keeping it under his chin, kissing the top of Connor’s forehead.</p>
<p class="p1">They stayed like that for a while, surrounded by the peaceful shelter of the room; Hank wished he never had to let go.</p>
<p class="p1">“Come back to the station”, he asked, his face half-sunk in Connor’s hair.</p>
<p class="p1">“I thought my job had been taken”, came the response; with the android buried in Hank’s embrace, it sounded just as muffled.</p>
<p class="p1">“The guy transferred out.” Donovan’s case had affected Ari more than he’d let it show - but then again, there wasn’t much he let show in general. He’d asked Fowler to work under a different department, one that allowed him to directly handle reports of domestic abuse. Hank felt like he’d never really understand the full story, but he didn’t mind. There was much that his kind had never been meant to know. “I told you, no one could replace you.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’ll think about it”, he said, and there was actual joy to his voice; Hank would never get tired of hearing it.</p>
<p class="p1">He pulled Connor even closer, losing himself to the android’s touch - and knowing, with every beat of his heart, that no one else knew the meaning of love as well as they did.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
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